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POEMS 



BY 



MRS. ELIZABETH COBBOLD, 



WITH 



A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 



IPSWICH s 

PRINTED AND SOLD BY J. RAW, IN THE BUTTER-MARKET. 
1825. 



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TO JOHN COBBOLD, Esq. 

IN ADMIRATION OF THE MANY PRIVATE VIRTUES 

HE POSSESSES, AND 
IN GRATITUDE FOR THE NUMBERLESS COMFORTS 
HE HAS BESTOWED UPON HIS CHILDREN; 

this SELECTION OF POEMS, 

THE PRODUCTIONS OF HER 
WHOM HE SO MUCH HONOURED AND ESTEEMED, 
AND TO WHOM HE WAS SO TENDERLY ATTACHED^ 

is humbly DEDICATED, 

WITH SINCERE LOVE AND RESPECT, 
AND FILIAL REGARD 

by his Affectionate Sons, 



READER, before these pages meet thine eye. 

Two portraits will have struck thee, known, or not. 

To thee, or to thy friends, behold them here 

The faithful representatives of those 

Whom first one loves on earth ; though not till time 

Has ta'en them from us, do we feel perhaps 

The full extent of their intrinsic worth. 

Shouldst thou make question, why it should be thus f 

That he, who is not Author of this work 

Should here be noted with the one who was ; 

The answer to such query, says, that both 

Were Author of my being ; that my love 

Owns no division of respect to them ; 

Esteems them both alike, would fain unite 

And be united with them here on earth ; 

And even so in heaven. It regards 

Not more the talents of the one deceas'd, 

Than he who lives regarded them. Who, most 

Was accessary to their growth, most lov'd 

And honor d them. Who, whilst he lives will feel 

The truth of these expressions, and deserve 

More than mere words can give him. But he lives, 

And needs no chronicler to speak his praise, 

Feeling sufficient in an upright heart, 

Man's best companion. He must pardon this, 

And think it not the sentiment of one, 

But all his children. That when time shall fail 



( vi ) 

To give him to their sight, their memories will 

Only with loss of life forget to dwell 

On him, and all the comforts he has heap'd 

On those who love him. But enough, enough, 

Rest here my pen, or some perhaps may say 

This praise is fulsome ; though thou say'st 'tis not. 

Ye days of distance ! ye have home away 

Far on your lengthen' d wings the thoughts and deeds 

Of her who sleeps in death ! Some few however 

Will be remember'd and recorded. These 

Will serve to shew the amplitude of thought 

That fill 'd a mortal's soul ; mortal no more, 

Since that which gave the being is returned 

To him who gave it. When again beheld, 

In immortality's bright vestments clad, 

May radiant glory shine around her head, 

And she be found the image of that Son 

Whom hers of earth, would gladly imitate. 

Alas, the doom, that all must die ! and yet 

Why should I say alas ! since all who were, 

Shall be again ; shall be restor'd to life, 

Shallmove, and breathe, and think, and speak, and act 

Though no more as they have done. Be it so, 

Mine 'tis to speak at present of the past. 

Mother / Ah, in that term, what son of man 

Who ever lov'd a parent he has lost, 

Can fail to feel a pang. Remember'd long 

For virtues and endowments rare. How oft 

Thy words recur to me ; " That thou wouldst be 

When death should taketheejrom us, thought of more." 



( vii ) 

Notv thou art gone, indeed I find it so, 
But never fancied, I could think of thee 
More than whilst thou rvert living. Thou wast such, 
That he who knew thee, had he ought of love 
For learning, genius, language, art or taste ; 
Either for charity, benevolence, 
Or what's much better for a pious heart, 
Must have admired thee. The young have lost, 
One who lov'd cheerfulness in youth, and sought 
To make them happy, V/hilst maturity 
More fond of knowledge, or the scenes of life, 
Seeks some companion to discuss the theme, 
Of what it sees or reads, or hears report, 
Thinking of thee, regrets that thou art gone. 
Age and infirmity, the high, the low, 
The oppress 'd or poor, the learned or unwise, 
All who once knew thee, own without deceit 
Some friend is missing. What then must we own ! 
We her lov'd children. Surely we must feel 
A vacancy that cannot be supplied : 
We must acknowledge God alone, in time 
Can heal the wound inflicted. Never now, 
O'er Orwell's banks, or Orwell's waves I roam, 
With rapid pencil sketch the lovely scene, 
Or with no less delight note down in lines 
Somewhat like these, sensation of events, 
Or feeling of the moment. Never now 
Does ought which nature prompts me to express, 
Either in eloquence or poesy, 
Become embodied, but I feel the want 
Of her keen judgment, to discern its worth. 



( viii) 

Pardon me reader, but one loves to dwell 
As thou well knowest, on subject of our hearty 
'Tis with reluctance that I drop the theme, 
Though told already that I swell too much 
The columns of this booh. A few lines more 
Before these pages are dismissed. Her end ! 
How was it ? Like herself 'twas wonderful. 
One Sunday in October last, reclind 
In mood contemplative ; the book of God 
The subject of her thoughts, before her plac'd : 
Her husband most affectionate and fond 
Beside her seated : when a gentle calm 
O'er-power'd her senses, and she sunk to rest, 
Though troubled, yet unbroken. For a week 
Her slumbers lasted, till her soul too great 
To bear imprisonment, its shackles brake, 
Bursting the narrow bonds of earth, it soard 
To him who fills all space. But now farewell, 
More than my pen can write my tongue could telL 
Reader, in time to come may you and I, 
Who lov'd her here ; love, in eternity. 

St. Margaret's Green, Ipswich. 
March 29, 1825. 



MEMOIR 



Mrs ELIZABETH COBBOLD* 



Measure life 

By its true worth, the comfort it affords. 
And their's alone seems worthy of the name, 
Good health, and its associate in the most, 
Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, 
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
The power of fancy, and strong thought are theirs : 
E'en age itself seems privileged in them 
From clear exemption from its own defects. 

JLT has been justly remarked that, if the actions of 
private life, as well as the circumstantial details of 
individual character -were more frequently the ob- 
ject of biographical attention, a muchgreater benefit 
would result to society at large from a perusal of 
such narratives, than from the most finished me- 
moir of those who are lauded as conquerors and 
heroes: — and for this obvious reason, because hi 

the former almost every one is interested, and be* 
B 






4 

cause they come home to the bosoms of, and are felt 
by all ; while the latter can be appreciated only by 
a few, and can admit but of partial imitation. 

To bring forward to public notice the lives of 
those, who have been eminent for worth, for talent, 
and for benevolence ; to delineate the character of 
such as have contributed to the welfare and happi- 
ness of their fellow creatures, is a task the most de- 
lightful, since its object is the improvement of 
mankind, by holding up to their example those 
essential virtues in which they are most intimately 
concerned — the duties of social and domestic life. 

Nothing has conferred a brighter lustre on the 
English name, or been a source of greater gratifi- 
cation to its admirers, than the high intellectual 
attainments possessed by many of the Female sex 
in this country : and few, of the present age, have 
been more eminently distinguished for true genius 
and varied endowments, than the lamented subject 
of the following brief and imperfect Memoir. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Cobbold was born in Watling 
street, London, and was the daughter of Mr. 
Robert Knipe, of Liverpool. Her mother's maiden 
name was Waller. 

At a very early period of life she discovered con- 
siderable talent, which she cultivated with unre* 



mitting industry ; and soon attracted and gained 
the notice of many distinguished literary charac- 
ters. Her taste for poetry was likewise evinced in 
several early efforts of her muse; and in 1787 she 
ventured to appear before the world as an autho- 
ress, by the' publication of" Six Narrative Poems:* 
This work was very favourably received, and as it 
has now become scarce, and is consequently but 
little known, the subjoined critique on its merits, 
which I have extracted from the Monthly Review, 
may not perhaps be uninteresting. 

" In her dedication to Sir Joshua Reynolds," she 
says, " I esteem myself highly honoured by the 
permission to dedicate the following Poems to you; 
nor could I wish them a better fate than to be 
thought worthy of your acceptance : I fear they can 
have no pretensions to that honour, but as the 
early efforts of an unlettered muse, who trembles at 
the severity of criticism, and who does not hope 
much even from candour." This however was a 
language which a writer like Miss Knipe needed not 
to have adopted ; for real merit, it should be re- N 
membered, is an JEgis on which it is scarcely pos- 
sible that even the shafts of envy and malice should 
make an impression, These Poems are entitled, 
The Vizir; The Village Wake; The Return from 
the Crusade; The Prussian Officer; Atomhoha and 



Omam ; Humanity. The Return from the Crusade 
and The Prussian Officer are tales in the manner of 
the legendary stories of old, of which there are 
numerous examples in The Reliques of Ancient 
Poetry ; and they are related in that unaffected and 
artless flow of numbers which never fails to gain 
upon the heart, that heart I mean, of which na- 
ture, and nature only, has been the fashioner. The 
other Poems have likewise considerable merit. 

Miss Knipe was at this period chiefly resident in 
Manchester, but frequently visited an eminent 
Bookseller in London, where, among other lite- 
rary characters, she became acquainted with the 
celebrated Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, as a painter, 
a scholar, a critic, and a gentleman, well merited 
his great and distinguished popularity, and whose 
notice and approbation, therefore, might justly be 
considered by her as an enviable honour, 

In November 1 790* she was married at Liverpool 
to William Clarke, Esq, a Portman of the borough 
and Comptroller of the Customs of Ipswich, a gen- 
tleman very considerably her senior in age, but of 
much worth and integrity, and to whom, during 
their short union, she strictly fulfilled all the duties 
of a wife, with affectionate solicitude and attention. 
Her sentiments of this person, and her indifference 
to the remarks which the disparity in their years 



had occasioned, may be collected from the follow- I 
ing lively verses, which she addressed to him on 
St. Valentine's day, soon after their marriage. 



Eliza to William this Valentine sends, 

While ev'ry good wish on the present attends ; 

And freely she writes undisturb'd by a fear, 

Tho' prudes may look scornful, and libertines sneer, 

Tho' tatlers and tale-bearers smiling may say, 

" Your Geniuses always are out of the way," 

Sure none but herself would such levities mix, 

With the seriousness suited to grave twenty-six. 

A Wife send a Valentine ! Lord, what a whim ! 

And then of all people to send it to him ! 

Make love to her husband ! my stars, how romantic ! 

The Girl must be certainly foolish or frantic ; 

But I always have thought so, else what could engage 

Her to marry a man who is twice her own age ? 

While the tabbies are thus on my motives enlarging, 

My sentiments William may read in the margin. 



On the wings of old Time have three months past away 
Since I promis'd " to honour, to love, and obey ;" 
And surely my William's own heart will allow, 
That my conduct has ne'er disagreed with my vow. 
Would health spread her wings round my husband and 

lord, 
To his cheeks could the smiles of delight be restor'd ; 



8 

The blessing with gratitude I should receive, 
L As the greatest that Mercy benignant could give ; 
And heedless of all that conjecture may say, 
With praise would remember St. Valentine's day. 

In 1791, she published a romance in two volumes, 
entitled The Sword, or Father Bertrand's History 
of his own Times ; from Ihe Original Manuscript. 
Prefixed to this work, which was printed at Liver- 
pool, is a list of the numerous subscribers, among 
whom are the names of three very eminent and 
distinguished individuals, viz, Brandreth, Currie, 
and Roscoe ; with those of many others of her lite- 
rary acquaintance. 

Mrs. Clarke, by the decease of her husband in 
1791, became a widow within six months of her 
marriage. But it was not to be expected that a 
woman possessed of such amiable qualities of the 
heart, and gifted with so many attractions of 
the mind, should long remain in that condition, 
or should affect any undue delicacy, on her 
hand being so soon again solicited by a person 
fully competent to appreciate her merits, and 
of sufficient wealth and liberality to indulge 
her taste for literature ; consequently, she a second 
time entered the conjugal state, and became the 



wife of John Cobbold, Esq. of the Cliff Brewery, in/ 
Ipswich, who, at the time of this marriage, was a\ 
widower with fourteen children. Placed in the bo-/ 
som of this numerous family, and indulged in the 
means of gratifying her benevolent and liberal spirit, 
the Cliff became the home of her dearest affections, 
the residence of taste, and the scene of hospitality. 
Here it was, in a situation so congenial to her feel- 
ings, that her talents and her domestic virtues had 
ample scope for expansion ; and here it was that 
her native genius more fully developed its varied 
and delightful powers. In this abode, while at- 
tracting and conciliating the regards of all her visi- 
tors, she passed the happiest hours of her life. 
The energies of her mind, and the exertion of her 
maternal duties were now, by a numerous family, 
with its attendant cares and anxieties, called into 
constant action, and it is only justice to say, that, 
devoted as she was to the charms of literature, and 
from her numerous accomplishments so well quali- 
fier! to enjoy and participate in the elegancies of 
life, she considered her domestic claims of superior 
importance, and never neglected those higher 
duties which she had undertaken to perform. In 
the course of a few years she herself became the 
mother of six sons, the third and fourth of whom, 



10 

Rowland and Francis, she lost in their youth, the 
former at the age of six, and the latter at four- 
teen ; and of an only daughter who died in her in- 
fancy. Of the remaining four, Robert Knipe and 
Charles were brought up in their father's large 
mercantile establishment, and Richard * and 
Edward are in the Church ; the former is Rector of 
Wortham, and the latter by his recent marriage is 
possessed of the valuable Rectory of Watlington in 
Norfolk. 

It may readily be supposed, that in so large a 
family, and with such various and contending in- 
terests, the management of the whole was no easy 
task, and often required the exercise of all her 
firmness and resolution ; yet she took a pleasure, 
and no little pride, in the direction and guidance of 
every department of it. She could teach with gen- 
tleness and persuasion ; and while cultivating with 
unwearied industry the talents, and forming the 
minds of the juniors, who more immediately re- 
quired her care, she sought by sedulous and affec- 
tionate attention to endear herself to the elder 
branches, to whom she was at once the kind 



* To this gentleman, who has greatly interested himself 
in the present publication, the Editor is indebted for many 
of his Mother's Original Poems. 



11 

mother, the instructive companion, and the intelli- 
gent friend. 

The varied nature of her employments at this 
period, Mrs. Cobbold, in one of her poetical epis- 
tles to a friend, thus most characteristically des- 
cribes : 

" A botanist one day, or grave antiquarian, 

Next morning a sempstress, or abecedarian ; 

Now making a frock, and now marring a picture, 

Next conning a deep philosophical lecture ; 

At night at the play, or assisting to kill 

The time of the idlers with whist or quadrille ; 

In cares or amusements still taking a part, 

Though science and friendship are nearest my heart." 

It is unquestionable that the possession of supe- 
rior talent ever confers a higher and more refined 
enjoyment of life, and increases the variety of our 
pleasures ; and not the least of these is the power it 
affords of developing and assisting merit. In 
discerning genius and abilities of any kind, Mrs. 
Cobbold's penetration was quick and just, and her 
power of inspiring confidence and regard, remark- 
able. To young persons her manner was most 
kind and encouraging ; she ever allowed for the 
prejudices or deficiencies of education, and nothing 



12 

yielded her higher gratification than imparting ad- 
vice or instruction. She was always ready to give 
hints or suggestions, and frequently applied herself 
to the tuition of youthful genius with an ardour 
and perseverance, which peculiarly marked her 
character. In some instances indeed she may be 
regarded as a public benefactress. Her patronage 
and introduction of Miss Goward (a native of this 
town, who is now so justly admired as an actress 
and public singer) is a proof of this. At a very 

early age, Mrs. Cobbold, struck with the precocity 

J 
of this young lady's talent, and particularly with her 

taste for music, undertook the culture of her abili- 
ties, and ultimately prepared her for that walk in 
life, which she is now pursuing with such honour- 
able distinction. On her recent appearance on the 
boards of the Ipswich Theatre, her kind patroness 
supplied her with the following beautiful and ap- 
posite Address : 

Should I attempt, in language, to reveal 

The force, the tenderness, of all I feel, 

The mix'd emotions utterance would subdue, 

And tears be all that / could give to you ! 

Yet something I would say ;— would fain express 

Such thoughts as grateful hearts alone can guess 



13 

To speak their powers I feel my own unable ; 
Allow me then to temper them with fable. 

The new fledged nightingale, when first she leaves 
The thorn on which a parent's bosom heaves, 
Her fluttering wing essay'd, returns to rest 
Trembling and panting, on the well known nest ; 
There cherish'd, with renew'd and strengthen'd wing 
Again she takes her flight, and tries to sing ; 
Then seeks the skies ; — on ether dares to float ; 
Visits each clime ; improves each tender note ; 
But still returns, with gratitude and love, 
To wake the echoes of her native grove. 

Though not like Philomel's my song be heard, 
Can you not fancy me that trembling bird ? 
Who, having tried my early song and flight, 
Seek on the sheltering nest again to light ; 
To meet those fostering smiles, for ever dear, 
And grow in strength from growing kindness here ! 

If, through that kindness, it be mine to claim, 
On persevering Aving, the heights of fame ; 
Should I again to these loved scenes belong, 
Matur'd in mind, and perfected in song ; 
O ! with what transport would that song be given, 
In notes of grateful praise, to you and Heaven ! 

Hope waves me on, presenting to my view 
Such blissful hour — 'till then, — adieu ! — adieu I 



14 

In 1800, Mrs. Cobbold published a burlesque 
poem under the following title : The Mince Pye, 
an Heroic Epistle, humbly addressed to the Sovereign 
Dainty of a 'British Feast. By Caroline Petty 
Pasty. Mo. "This, says the British Critic, is a play- 
ful, good humoured, and facetious trifle, ridiculing 
the splendid and truly magnificent publication of 
the Sovereign, by Mr. Pybus. It is dedicated to 
the veritable Sovereign of a British table, namely, 
a Plum-pudding. Mr. Py bus's poem was adorned 
with a superb engraving of the Imperial Crown of 
Russia , to this poem a mince-pye is prefixed ; and 
to correspond with the portrait of Mr. Pybus, it 
is embellished with that of the celebrated Mrs. 
Glasse, in the act of taking a drop of cherry 
bounce." 

In 1803, with her usual liberality of spirit, and 
prompt benevolence of heart, she exerted her pen 
and interest in behalf of a worthy but humble indi- 
vidual, who had been introduced to her notice as 
the writer of a collection of miscellaneous poems, 
and which were submitted to her inspection. 
These she corrected, arranged, and prefaced with 
an introductory narrative, and published for the 
Author's benefit under the following title : Poetical 
Attempts by Ann Candler, a Suffolk Cottager ; with 



15 

a short Narrative of her Life. Of this little work 
more than five hundred copies were sold, the pro- 
fits of which to a person in the writer's lowly cir- 
cumstances, afforded a considerable relief. 

In 1805, a party of Officers, who were then sta- 
tioned in the Garrison at Ipswich, performed, for 
the benefit of " The Lying-in Charity"of that town, 
the tragedy of Oronooko, with the entertainment 
of Torn Thumb. On this occasion, Mrs. Cobbold, 
ever ready to aid a charitable purpose, wrote 
an appropriate and witty Epilogue*, which was 
spoken by a Captain of the Royal Engineers, in 
the character of a Nurse, and which added greatly 
to the amusement and satisfaction of the numerous 
auditors. A short time after, on the representation 
of the Castle Spectre, and the melo-drama of The 
Tale of Mystery, by the same gentlemen, for the 
benefit of the Norwich Company of Comedians, 
who had gratuitously, on the former occasion, affor- 
ded the use of their theatre, she again exerted her 
pen in an excellent Introductory Address, f 

From her love of the drama she was a very fre- 
quent attendant on the theatre, and a warm patron- 
ess of that delightful recreation. On the appear- 

* See page 141. f See page 184 



16 

ance of any actor of eminence, she made a point not 
only of witnessing the performance, but also of 
encouraging their talent, by her kind notice and hos- 
pitable attention. She herself also possessed much 
taste and skill in dramatic composition, and wrote 
several pieces of great merit. 

On the publication of The Chaplet, a collection of 
Original and selected Poems, Mrs. Cobbold politely 
furnished the Editor of that little volume, with 
several interesting and acceptable communications : 
and at the commencement of Mr. Raw's Ladies 
Fashionable Repository in 1809, she became a 
valuable contributor, and continued annually, to 
the close of her life, to grace, with her poetical 
effusions, the pages of that highly-favoured publi- 
cation. 

When any subject of interest engaged her feel- 
ings and attention, it was frequently celebrated 
and adorned both by her pen and pencil ; and the 
Albums of her intimate acquaintances and visitors 
will offer many elegant proofs of her willing 
muse and obliging disposition. The application of 
her ready talent for writing poetry on any particu- 
lar event that occurred, was a source of gratifica- 
tion and pleasure to her friends ; and as it was 
always done in perfect good humour, never created 



17 

her a single enemy. Yet there are individuals, 
who cannot join in such innocent and laudable 
amusement. In a company some years since, 
where Mrs. Cobbold was present, the conversation 
turning upon this subject, a Lady of the party 
thought proper, with much tartness and personality, 
to give a decided opinion against it, and " thanked 
God she could not write poetry !" Mrs. Cobbold, 
with her usual quickness observed, that it was 
the first time she had ever heard any one 
thank God for their ignorance. Though not natu- 
rally of a sarcastic turn, she was ever alive to re- 
taliate impertinence : and her etching of a Sketch of 
a Sketcher, the caricature portrait of an Officer, who 
was observed in the Ipswich Assembly Room to 
be exercising his talent in that art, is a proof of 
thisyremark. 

/ For a period of nearly twenty years the hospita- 
ble mansions of the Cliff, and Holy Wells, were 
enlivened by an annual party on the evening of St. 
Valentine's Day ; for which festive occasion Mrs. 
Cobbold designed, composed, and executed, with 
great taste and elegance, a collection of Valentines, 
generally to the number of eighty, which were all 
curiously cut out on a half sheet of letter paper, 
and each inscribed with verses applicable to the 



18 

subject. They were then folded precisely alike in 
blue paper, and placed, the ladies' valentines in 
one basket, and the gentlemens' in another ; and 
when cards or music had contributed for an hour 
or two to the amusement of the evening, these 
baskets were handed round to the unmarried visi- 
tors, and the Valentines drawn by them as a lottery; 
each lady or gentleman selecting one at their plea- 
sure from any part of the respective packets. 
The prize was intended to prognosticate to the per- 
son, who drew it, marriage, or a matrimonial enga- 
gement in the ensuing year; while the others, 
from the variety, and accidental or fancied coinci- 
dencies with the supposed sentiments of the par- 
ties, afforded an unique and highly interesting 
amusement. The following Scena, which formed 
one of the valentines for the year 1814, is intro- 
duced as in some measure depictive of this enter- 
tainment. 

SCENA. 



/ 



Oberon and Robin Goodfellow* 

Oberon. 

Come, blythest Elf of fancy's band, 
Obey the Fairy King's command* 



19 

Robin Goodfellow. 

J Tis now the time, as Swains relate, 
When ev'ry bird selects its mate ; _J 
Now Elves to eastern climes resort 
Their sprightly Fairy Dames to court, 
And hold their revels, blythe and boon, 
Beneath the mild and dewy moon. 
What, in this consecrated hour 
Exempt from aught of mischief's pow'r, 
Has Oberon, 'mid lovers true, 

For Robin-Goodfellow to do ? 

Oberon. 

To Britain's eastern coast repair, 
Where gently glides the Orwell fair, 
There shalt thou find a chearful Dame, 
More grac'd by happiness than fame ; 
Who gives, to-night, a festive scene 
In honour of our Fairy Queen ; 
And Britain's loveliest daughters there 
The mental revel freely share, 
And draw the merry Valentine, 
Inscrib'd with many a sportive line : 
Go thou, and so the packets guide 
That each, appropriately supplied, 
May find an emblem to impart 
The secret wishes of her heart : 
So beauty's animated smile 
Shall well reward thy wanton wile ; 
And mirth and unaffected glee 
Shall join the gentle revelry. 



20 

I will not, Puck, -tfhere all are fail- 
Presume to bid thee choose the fairest ; 

But to thy love a billet bear, 
And when thy choice thou thus declarest, 
Tell her that in her sparkling eye, 
Such gay good humour thou didst spy, 
Such mirth, thou couldst not but opine 
That she would share these tricks of thine, 
And bid that eye's bright lustre shine 
Approving on her Valentine. 

The recurrence of this festival was ever antici- 
pated with the greatest pleasure, by those who 
were accustomed to share in the invitation to this 
annual recreation. And surely nothing could be 
more amiable, virtuous and praiseworthy, than 
thus to lead a whole neighbourhood to the enjoy- 
ment of such a literary feast. Such varied excel- 
lence as these Valentines displayed, must have prov- 
ed a bright example and incitement to the younger 
part of her visitors ; their own hopes and feelings 
must have been often woven, as it were, into this 
interesting and happy party ; while each individual 
enjoyed the general gaiety of the evening. The 
crowded assemblies, and noisy routs of the luxuri- 
ous and opulent, can never afford the gratification., 
or bear the agreeable reflections of such a rational 
entertainment as this. 



21 

In consequence of the anxiety expressed by many 
of Mrs. Cobbold's friends to possess copies of her / 
Valentines, she in 1813 and 1814, printed them for J 
private circulation; and on the presentation of a copy 
to a noble Earl in the vicinity of Ipswich, his 
Lordship inserted in the blank page the following 
complimentary verses : 

A Valentine of adverse fate, 
Still anxious for a willing mate, 
Into this book once took a peep 
In- hope some benefit to reap, 
At least to search with eager eyes, 
The likeliest way to gain a prize ; 
Encourag'd by the courteous strain 
He read, admir'd, and read again ; 
The graces lead him through the page, 
The muses too his mind engage, 
Announcing in attraction's name 
A welcome to the festive game, 
Held on this spot, where every year 
Hope and her jocund nymphs appear, 
And from her train of thronging fair 
Not one is bariish'd but despair ; 
Wealth, wit and beauty here combine 
To celebrate Saint Valentine, 
By which this coveted retreat 
Displays Elysium compleat ; 
Enraptur'd with the painted bliss, 
He cries, explain the cause of this, 
C2 



22 

What Goddess here so chaste resides, 

And with such attic taste presides ? 

Under what Star auspicious teems 

The soil with such Pierian streams ? 

At Cliff, declare on whose account, 

Parnassus rears another mount ? 

Quoth Truth, " 'tis Cobbold here is Queen, 

" Her genius forms the classic scene." 

In 1812, Mrs. Cobbold, consulting with several 
benevolent Ladies on the best mode of relieving a 
species of distress at that time very prevalent in 
the cottages of the indigent, viz. a want of neces- 
sary apparel for their new born offspring, suggest- 
ed the establishment of a Society for clothing the 
Infant Poor. Under her direction a sketch of the 
plan was drawn up, subscriptions were solicited, 
the public became interested, a general meeting 
was called, rules and regulations were formed, and 
the Society was instituted, which, aided by her 
active exertions and powerful eloquence, has been 
the means of affording, during the last twelve years, 
neat and warm clothing to more than two thousand 
poor infants. 

This institution was also most warmly encourag- 
ed and strengthened by the zeal and activity of its 
late amiable Vice President, Mrs. Byles, of the Hill 



House, Ipswich, to whose memory, in her sixth an- 
niversary address, Mrs. Cobbold, after feelingly 
lamenting her loss, paid the following elegant and 
well-merited tribute. 



Monody to the Memory of Mrs. Byles. 

Mild were her manners ; o'er her lovely face 
Meek kindness shone, in unaffected grace, 
And mark'd with virtuous energy combin'd, 
The true politeness of a gentle mind. 
As oft she turn'd to cheer the lowly cot, 
Toil smooth'd his brow, and blest his humble lot, 
And while she rais'd the sufferer's languid head 
From poverty's hard pillow sickness fled : 
Her voice could agony's sharp throe beguile, 
And sorrow brighten'd in her angel smile. 
Not her's the boon that listless pride bestows, 
When, from uncounted stores the gift it throws, 
Heedless by whom or how the dole is shared 
So its own cherish'd indolence be spared : 
She with warm zeal, and quicken'd footstep, trode 
The path that led to misery's lorn abode, 
Her prudent cares from luxury's bosom drew 
The stores, that mix'd with pity's holy dew; 
In wants' far-spreading wilderness were given, 
A daily banquet like the bread of Heaven ! 



24 

Cheerful not light ; devout, vet not austere ; 

To weakness kind ; to error not severe ; 

"With suasive speech, from vice and folly's track, 

She called the poor deluded wanderer back, 

And through remorse's gloomy valley shew'd 

The brightening path to virtue's calm abode. 

Abroad in timid softness ever drest ; 

At home with all of pure affection blest ; 

And while her heart no evil passions felt, 

She deem'd none such in other bosoms dwelt : 

That heart so lorm'd to feel, in spotless worth, 

Its heavenly father's kingdom here on earth 

Secm'd a clear source, where kindred souls might prove 

A fount of tenderness and holy love. 

"Who now shall glad the cottage ? who dispense 

The timely aid to suffering indigence ? 

Who from remorse despair's stern grasp controul. 

And soothe in penitence, the anguish'd soul ? 

O ! there are hearts that yet with kindness glow, 

That melt in sympathy with others' woe ; 

Hands that can yet the liberal dole supply, 

And turn the house oi grief to that of joy : 

But still for her will fall the tender tear, 

To hearts like these her memory still be dear, 

And surely they who lov'd her best on earth, 

Will best essay to emulate her worth. 

She left us suddenly : no lingering pain 



25 

Bound her to life with slow corroding chain » 
Swift as the prophet's heavenly car she flies, 
Her track of radiance sparkling in the skies : 
O ! while with reverential awe we view, 
May we that track of blissful light pursue, 
And may the mantle of her virtues rest, 
With heavenly comfort, on a daughter's breast, 



It is a very just remark, that when females begin 
to act in a public capacity, the greatest care and cir- 
cumspection are necessary ; for however good their 
intentions, the world is too apt to be sarcastic and 
censorious, and to cast aspersions on the most lauda- 
ble undertakings. On such occasions, of what value 
is an abb and willing guide to direct the efforts of 
the timid, and by judicious advice to preserve them 
from even the appearance of error; such a guide 
was the subject of this memoir. Her presence, dur- 
ing the transactions of this society, gave confidence 
to all who assembled round her ; she not only con- 
ciliated them by her suavity of manners, and encou- 
raging remarks, but, by stimulating their exertions, 
and gaining their co-operation, she rendered her 
own talents and abilities more effective, and more 
conducive to the interests and welfare of their mutual 
object. 



26 

At the annual meetings of the subscribers to the 
Infant Charity, the Moot Hall of Ipswich 
displayed a most interesting spectacle. Here the 
ladies of the town and neighbourhood assembled, 
while their excellent and able President on these 
occasions, never failed to encourage and incite their 
benevolence by an energetic and appropriate ad- 
dress. To those, who, for twelve successive years, have 
listened with delight to these eloquent appeals to 
the best feelings of their nature, any repetition of 
the sentiments they contain will be superfluous; 
but I cannot refrain from presenting the reader with 
the following poetical extract from her address de- 
livered April, 1821. 

Daughters of Britain, in whose lucid eyes 

Benevolence with intellectual ray 

Shines Avith a lustre far beyond the beam 

r I ' Of beauty, — You, though young and fair, 
Can quit the haunts of vanity to soothe 

The pillow of affliction. You as wives, 

As mothers, daughters, friends, endear the joys 

Of social home, and make the humblest hearth 

Gay as a painted ball-room. — Nay, 'tis yours, 

E'en in the scenes of gaiety, to blend. 

Domestic tenderness ; but dearer still 

Your worth, when, called by charity, you bring 

The tear, the boon, the voice of consolation. 



27 

_— , .- — Daughters of Britain, 

The helplessness of infancy implores 
Your aid, to cherish ; think you hear the cry, 
Waked by the pressure of the chilly air, 
Hushed to the soft still breathing of repose : 
Think that you feel the downy dimpled cheek 
Nestling upon your arm, and see the smile 
Curl the fresh lip with life, and warmth and joy. 
Your bounty lull'd the cry and calm'd the breath, 
Here still that bounty pour ; here shall the voice 
Of gratitude await you : — here your hearts 
Shall feel the glow of social tenderness, 
And greet with warm and unalloy'd delight 
That holy bliss, the blessing of the poor. 

Mrs. Cobbold, in conjunction with a committee of 
ladies, also superintended, and largely contributed 
to that emporium of female taste and beneficence* 
" The Charitable Bazaar, for the works of Industry 
and Fancy-" — the first annual sale of which, took 
place on the 29th of April, 1820; and the yearly 
produce of which has hitherto been applied to such 
benevolent purposes as appeared to her, and to the 
committee, most eligible and most deserving of sup- 
port. 

In 1815, Mrs. Cobbold published an <( Ode to the 
Victory of Waterloo," which she dedicated to his pre- 



28 

sent Majesty, then Prince Regent ; a poem of very 
considerable merit, the profits arising from which 
were given in aid of the Waterloo subscription. On 
the arrival of his Grace the Duke of Wellington on 
a visit to Lord Granville, at Wherstead Lodge in 
1818, she presented him with a copy of this poem 
very splendidly bound in morocco, which was most 
graciously received and acknowledged. 

Among the numerous productions of her muse 
-which are too long for insertion, in the present 
selection, several are greatly deserving of notice, 
particularly " Taliessin, a Welch Legend." i{ Rural 
Employment, a Tale for Citizens" a favorite piece, 
which she very frequently introduced in her even- 
ing recitations, a recreation in which she delighted 
and excelled. — " The Avenger or the Wrongs of Lady 
Hermegild" a poem written to illustrate two elegant 
designs of her friend Sir Robert Ker Porter — and 
" Cassandra a Monodrama" as performed by Miss 
Macauley, at the European Saloon, King-street, St. 
James's Square, London. 

In addition to the publications already named, 
Mrs. Cobbold was a correspondent in, and frequent 
contributor to, a variety of periodical and scientific 
works; more particularly those, which related to 
her favorite study, Natural History. 



29 

To that Ingenious Artist and eminent Naturalist, 
Mr.Sowerby, she communicated much valuable infor- 
mation for his elaborate publication on Mineral Con* 
chology, and forwarded many interesting specimens 
of fossil shells, which are there severally recorded, 
and one of which, a small gibbose variety of the 
nucula, as a compliment to her knowledge and re- 
search, bears her name. 

In Tab. CLXXX. Fig. 2. it is depicted, and in p. 177, thus 
described.— 

Nucula Cobboldice. 
Spec. Char. Transversely obovate, convex ; 
Surface marked with zig-zag furrows, diverging 
over the sides ; edge entire. 
and in the succeeding page Mr. Sowerby further 
remarks " being desirous of commemorating Mrs. 
Cobbold, whose copious collection obtained with 
great industry, in company with several of the ju- 
nior branches of her family, whom she delighted to 
inspire with a love for the works of nature, from 
the crag pits of her own estate, evinces a degree of 
taste and zeal sefdom met with ; I have named this 
rare and withal elegant shell after her." 

With Sir James Smith, the learned President of 
the Linnaean Society, to whose acquaintance she was 
first introduced by her venerable friend Dr. Gwyn, 
she frequently corresponded, and for his scientific 



30 

work, the " Flora Anglica," she favored him with the 
habitats of many plants, the natives of this county. 
In the month of July last, Mrs. Cobbold was at- 
tacked by an alarming illness, from the effects of 
which she appeared to have recovered ; a return 
however of the same complaint in the October fol- 
lowing, on a constitution already so seriously im- 
paired, to the great grief of her family, and the deep 
regret of all her friends proved fatal. — After linger- 
ing one week in a state of insensibility, this excel- 
lent woman, on the J 7th of that month, breathed her 
last, in the fifty-seventh year of her age. 

If the character of a woman is to be estimated by 
her conduct in the faithful discharge of the great 
and essential duties of social and domestic life, few 
will rank higher, or deserve more honorable men- 
tion, than that of Mrs. Cobbold. 

The female heart, when devoted to conjugal affec- 
tion, is sometimes observed to be comparatively 
cold to other claims; but that of Mrs. Cobbold form- 
ed an exception to this remark, for she possessed a 
warmth and kindliness of manner particularly cal- 
culated for inspiring and requiting friendship. 

Conscious of her own extraordinary abilities, and 
aware of her great powers of attraction, she sought 



31 

and obtained applause; but although she loved ad- 
miration much, she valued friendship more. A 
solid judgment enabled her to conceive and 
act with a promptness and decision that formed a 
striking trait in her character. Ever ready to meet 
and repel any improper attack on those measures, 
which, after due consideration, either her friends or 
herself had adopted, she was a formidable antago- 
nist, and of course a valuable partizan. 

Above being the copyist of any individual, she 
thought and acted for herself; and such was the 
general conviction of her good sense and strong 
mind, that opinions, which in any other female 
might have been termed affected or singular, with 
her were admitted as correct. 

Her knowledge was multifarious, and her pow- 
ers of fancy and sentiment striking : her reasoning 
convincing, and her understanding clear and sound. 
Delighting in reciprocity of talent wherever she 
clianced to meet with it, she never forgot that 
though wit may dazzle, and depth and brilliancy of 
intellect delight, yet that esteem is due only to geni- 
us when accompanied by benevolence of heart and 
purity of mind: wherever these qualities existed, it 
never failed to obtain her favorable notice. From 
her natural frankness and ingenuousness of disposi- 



tion, she frequently laid herself open to the censure 
of those, who prided themselves upon that disquali- 
fying sort of hypocrisy, which commonly passes for 
modesty; and to the mere casual observer she might, 
therefore, sometimes have appeared vain and ego- 
tistic. But w vanity, egotism, and a sense of their 
own sufficiency," says an elegant modern writer, * 
" must alter with the occasion, for to mediocrity, 
the simplicity of truth may appear vanity, and the 
consciousness of superiority seem envy. The love 
of praise is instinctive in the nature of persons 
of genius; take from some that supreme opinion 
of themselves, that pride of exultation, and 
you crush the germ of their excellence. Lower the 
high self-reverence and the lofty conception of 
genius, and you deprive it of the consciousness of 
its powers with the delightfulness of its character : 
in the blow you give to the musical instrument, the 
invisible soul of its tone is for ever lost." 

There is perhaps, no method of improving the 
mind more efficacious, and certainly none more 
agreeable, than a mutual interchange of sentiments 
with the well-read, the judicious, and the intelligent: 
by many, therefore, the conversation of Mrs. Cob- 
bold was much sought after, as her colloquial pow- 
ers rivalled even her literary talents. 

" DTsraeli on Literary Characters, chap, xi, 



33* 

Ease, elegance, genius, vivacity, solid sense and 
delicate raillery were the characteristic traits, and 
formed the principal charm of her conversation. 
Her transitions from one subject to another were 
frequent and rapid ; when any thing touched her 
feelings and excited her admiration, or awakened 
her displeasure, she poured forth enthusiastic elo- 
quence, and then as quickly changed to reasoning 
or wit. She had also, as has been beautifully re- 
marked, " a constant flow of thought, joining with 
the current of other minds, thence gathering fresh 
strength not headlong in its course, but easily turn- 
ing with every bend in its progress;" and possessed 
a facility of comprehension, and a felicity of ex- 
pression by which she fascinated and delighted 
minds of the most opposite textures. 

Mrs. Cobbold shone pre-eminent in the circle, in 
which she daily moved, for the versatility and the 
universality of her genius. — There are few depart- 
ments in science, which she had not attempted, and 
in many certainly she eminently excelled. There 
is no mode of the lyre, each of which is supposed 
almost to require a particular talent, through which 
she had not run— song, epigram, ode, sonnet, elegy, 
ballad, opera, tragedy, nay even the lofty epic it- 
self. Yet the muses alone were far irom monapo- 



34* 

lizing the talents of this indefatigable woman ; 
botany, entomology, geology, mineralogy, concho- 
logy, and the fine arts alternately divided and en- 
gaged her attention. 

She excelled in painting, both in oil and water 
colors, in portraits, she was very successful ; and 
that her readiness to exert this pleasing talent was 
equal to her skill, many of her intimate friends, to- 
gether with the author of the following tributary 
sonnet, will gratefully acknowledge. 

SONNET, by Mr. R. Llwyd, 

Addressed to Mrs. Cobbold* of the Cliff, near Ipswich. 
On her painting a half-length picture of the writer's 
Mother, from a miniature likeness. 
Blest be the hand that Heaven has taught to trace, 
So well each feature in that dearest face, 

* Accident, in 1800, threw in the way of the writer, a 
living portrait of his deceased Mother, who, on being reques- 
ted to sit to the late Mr. Pugh, of Ruthin, very kindly 
complied : but afterwards regretting in the company of the 
ingenious and accomplished Mrs. Cobbold, that it was a 
miniature only, she immediately, with a warmth that at once 
evinced genius, parental feeling, and benevolence, said, 
" Will you give me leave to try to enlarge it, and preserve 
the likeness ;" that she succeeded he is most happy to say, 
and the gift is of inestimable value. 



35* 

So well her form to filial fondness gives— 
'Tis inspiration, and the canvas lives ! 

Blest be the bright — the intellectual raj, 
That bade the pencil e'en the mind pourtray — 
Place in her hand Religion's hallow 'd -j- choice, 
And precepts pure in Britain's infant voice. 

Blest ! truly blest, be Nature's kindest heart 
That thus in union with the powers of art, 
Has saved from Fate, and Time, a copy fair— 
Giv'n to my wishes — all that Heaven could spare ! 

O Cobbold ! while the grateful glow is mine, 
A Parent's smile celestial shall be thine ! 

She was also passionately fond of music, and pur- 
sued, with characteristic ardour and industry, the 
study of that enchanting accomplishment. 

In the lighter and more trivial graces and occu- 
pations of the female mind, fancy and needle-work, 
she was unrivalled, and the elegant and unique fur- 
niture and ornaments of her drawing-room afford 
beautiful specimens of her taste, industry and in- 

* A Bible in^he British language, for she knew no other; 

and Mrs. Cobbold's pencil has most successfully rivalled 

the typographic art on the open title page of the New 

Testament, 

1) 



30* 

genuity. Her insatiable thirst for knowledge in- 
duced, and her persevering application, enabled 
her to make herself mistress of the French, Italian, 
and German languages. « 

Her love of flowers was very great, and was ren- 
dered more pleasing by her intimate acquaintance 
with their several properties and uses. A taste for 
the beauties of vegetation is allowed to be the 
mark of a pure mind, and is most desirable, as it 
directs the attention from the turbulent scenes of 
folly, tranquillizes the mind, and is highly favor- 
able to the gentler virtues, and to the permanency 
of our most refined enjoyments. 

The countenance of Mrs. Cobbold was extremely 
commanding ; her eyes were remarkable for their 
quick and intelligent expression, and her address 
and manner peculiarly graceful. But no delinea- 
tion can give a more adequate idea of some of the 
leading features of this distinguished woman, than 
the following poetical picture, written by her three 
years after her second marriage. 

A CHARACTER (of the author by herself.) 
Alicia frankly owns the crowd 
Has reason oft fc to call her proud, 
For, scorning ev'ry little art 
She loves her friends with all her heart, 



o7# 

While careless of the world beside, 
She makes indifference pass for pride, 
And when acquaintance call to chatter 
Of dinners, dress, or some such matter, 
Forgets to thank them for the honor 
Their visit has conferr'd upon her, 
Nay, e'en in circles term'd polite 
Sits downright stupid half the night, 
To whist or scandal scarce attends, 
And thinks of books and absent friends, 
Cares not for luck, if good or evil 
Eut seldom means to be uncivil, 
Yet with a stern and haughty air 
Repels impertinence's stare, 
Restrains not, as she ought, the sneer, 
When affectation prattles near, 
And frets to hear a coxcomb prate, 
Though vice alone provoke her: hate. 

Upon her birth fate smil'd serene 
And gave her life's delightful mean, 
Taught her to look while blest with health 
From envy free, on pride, or wealth, 
That virtue far surpasses birth, 
And modesty enhances worth- 
She boasts not, and the world may know it, 
A taste for dress, or shape to shew it ; 
D 2 



38* 

In neatness no excelling pattern, 

Nor yet affectedly a slattern. 

Too proud to cringe, too plain to shine, 

She quits all claim at twenty-nine 

To dissipation or to fame, 

A fat unfashionable dame. 

Her foibles all are strictly scanned 

By folly's idle censuring band ; 

While scandal's votaries, glad to maul her, 

A petticoated pedant call her. 

Yet think not that her simple muse 

That name with affectation wooes, 

She shuns the proud conceited thought, 

The verse by tedious study bought ; 

While unassuming nature's praise 

Breathes in her song, inspires her lays ; 

And virtuous love, with air serene 
Illumes the soft domestic scene, 

And varies still its placid round ; 

Yet shall the truth be fairly own'd ? 

Dear vanity, with harmless pow'r 

Steps in to claim an idle hour, 

And makes it doubtful to decree 

If friendship prompt the verse or she ; 

Yet should her heart expound its laws, 

Success were sure in friendship's cause. 



39* 

1795. 

And now some seventeen years gone bye, 
Alicia's retrospective eye 
Reviews this portrait light and free, 
A rapid sketch, and smiles to see 
How little time has done, but fix 
The lines more strong at forty -six, 

Yet past not all these seasons o'er 
Without some prudent useful lore, 
For she has learnt with less disdain 
To listen to the weak or vain ; 
Her neighbours' faults less harshly shewn, 
And more severely mark'd her own, 
And she has daily, hourly, found 
Esteem and kindness growing round, 
Has felt affection's tender tear, 
E'en the rough stroke of pain endear 
Till half she fears her heart may find 
A pang severe to leave behind, 
The earthly bliss about it twin'd. 

On every occasion Mrs. Cobbold was ready to 
give advice to those who asked it ; and very many 
there are who have profited by its excellence. Even 
her admonitions were generally blended with con^ 
solation, though sometimes necessarily mingled 



40* 

with reproof. So decided was her manner with the 
vicious, that the boldest offender stood abashed in 
her presence, and by the force of her reprobation, 
she often reclaimed the idle and careless to proper 
feeling and better conduct 

In the management of her family, and the ar- 
rangement of her domestic concerns, every species 
of extravagance and fashionable dissipation were a- 
voided;frivolousamusements, empty pomp, andnoisy 
gaiety, were not congenial with her usual occupations 
and pursuits: yet, while she supported the dignity of 
a lady, she never made herself the slave of etiquette. 
The generosity of her disposition evinced itself on 
every laudable occasion, and very few persons, 
with the same means, were so extensively useful. 
No one, when cpnvinced that it was to a profitable 
end, could give with a freer heart. Her actions 
throughout life shewed that she knew the right 
use of riches — to encourage merit, relieve the dis- 
tressed, support the weak, and raise the despond- 
ing. Many individuals, to whose complaints she 
has listened, and whose sorrows she has soothed, 
will bear grateful witness to those virtues, which 
rendered her a model of excellence whether consi- 
dered as a wife, a mother, or a friend. 

How appositely may that benevolent character, 
and those almost prophetic regrets, by which she so 



41* 

lately commemorated another,* be applied to herself. 
"Such indefatigable zeal and peculiar capabilities we 
cannot hope to see united and equalled in any indi- 
vidual, however meritorious. A powerful mind, and 
well regulated education enabled her to conduct, 
every charitable institution with the utmost facility 
Warmly attached to their interests, she lost no op- 
portunity of promoting their welfare ; while her 
activity seemed a principle of health and vitality 
circulating through their veins. Can we forget 
how strenuously, and how constantly she advocated 
the cause of her favourite charity for the Infant 
Poor ? From her last earthly exertion in its behalf, 
her removal to a better world was not of long du- 
ration. That her place here knows her no more, 
the poor have reason to mourn, and friendship feels 
saddened at the remembrance ; but it must be our 
consolation to reflect that the abode of blessedness 
is everlasting !" 

I cannot conclude this imperfect tribute to the 
memory of this lamented and highly gifted woman 
more appropriately, than in the pathetic language of 
an elegant female writer of the present day, — ff She 
is now removed to that sphere, where the incense of 
human applause can no longer gratify ; where the 

* Miss Buchanan late Treasurer to the Infant Charity. 



42* 

joys and cares of human life can no longer delight 
or assail her ; to that sphere, where alone those 
faculties, which she always devoted to the worthi- 
est purposes, can attain their complete expansion ; 
and those virtues, which proved the blessing of all 
connected with her, will at length receive their 
full reward." 

Ipswich, I^etitia Jermyn. 

St. Valentine's Day, 1825. 



43* 



" We ne'er shall look upon her like again !'* 

% tribute to tfje Pernor? of S1W* Cobfcoto 

OF HOLYWELLS. 

The zealous, eloquent and most benevolent Patroness of the 
Infant Charity at Ipswich. 

by Mrs. Cockle. 

Have we not seen across the brow of night 

Some meteor radiance spread effulgent light, 

And in the lustre of its parting rays 

Leave the bright glow of its meridian blaze ? 

So did she fade from friendship's pensive eye, 

So pass away to immortality ! 

The good, the wise — for whom with private woe 

The mingled tears of public sorrow flow. 

How grac'd with all that marks the gifted mind ; 

Taste, genius, learning, piety combin'd : 

Science that took the fire of manly sense, 

And wit so temper'd with benevolence, 

That whilst around its radiant brightness fell 

It seem'd but friendship's beam or fancy's spell, 

To gild those light adornments which display 'd 

Each cultured talent in its softest shade. 

Nor these, alone— we saw around her press 

Her sex's virtues in their fairest dress ; 



44* 

Saw them in all their beauteous order more 

To fill the gentlest offices of love. 

Hers was the heart that 'midst each letter'd aim, 

But sought the fullness of a nobler fame ;— 

That fame which springing from a purer source, 

M arks every duty in its silent course. 

And in its high fulfilment saw her blend 

Each cherish 'd claim of mother, wife and friend. 

Hers was the ready zeal and readier hand, 

Still prompt to execute what pity plann'd ; 

Hers too that mild, persuasive eloquence, 

The pure, full current of benevolence, 

That with its copious waters seems to bring 1 

The healing virtues of some secret spring. 

Ah ! when of late she shed her hallowing' tear 

O'er a Buchanan's ami a B^les^s bier, . 

And in her faithful portraiture display'd 

The sister virtues bright without a shade, 

We little deem'd how soon for her would flow 

In the strong sympathy of heartfelt woe 

The kindred tear — and trembling o'er her grave, 

Claim the sad tribute she so lately gave ! 

These gathered sweets, alas ! in honour'd bloom 

But hang their funeral garlands o'er her tombj 

Like those which shelter'd by her guardian care 

Bend their young buds in silent sorrow there, 

And with the tenderness of infant woe 

NVeep, scarcely concious why their sorrows flow. 

W hat though protected by that hand no more, 

Which threw around them pity's sheltering power, 



45* 

Think not their tender scions shall be cast 

All coldly scatter'd on the wintry blast : — 

No ! there are left, whose fostering hands shall bring 

These cherish'd flowrets to their promis'd spring, 

And guided by the bright example giv'n 

Present with her their ripen'd fruits in heaven. 

Sleep then, lamented friend ! thy sacred sleep, 
Whilst round thee all the gentler virtues weep, 
Those which in beauteous harmony combin'd 
Whate'er can grace, or dignify the mind : — 
And O ! commingling with the general woe, 
Though distant far, the copious tears must flow 
From her who sought (yet ah ! how vainly tried) 
Her little bark still launch'd on friendship's tide, 
To catch that glorious spirit as it fell 
Warm on the heart with inspiration's spell. 
Gone are its kindling fires— yet thy bright star 
With its last beams still guides as from afar ; 
And like the pillar'd light to Israel's race, 
Which mark'd their journey, and their resting place, 
So shall its lustre bursting through the gloom 
Pour hallow'd radiance o'er thy honour'd tomb : 
That sacred light by guardian angels giv'n 
To lead the trembling steps from earth to heaven, 
And guide these infant objects of thy care, 
To meet thee in thy perfect brightness there ! 



46* 



A TRIBUTE 

sro t])t pernor? of Wtf £obbnlt>> 

If talents conseerate the grave, 

Where moulders their once living shrine ; 
If science though she could not save, 

Regrets her votary to resign r 

And O ! if virtue ever weeps 

Upon her lost disciple's bier, 
Turn to the tomb where Cobb old sleeps 

And mark how many a hallowed tear, 

By genius, science, virtue shed, 
Adorn that solemn resting place, 

"Where low recline the heart and head, 
They late combined so well to grace. 

All mourn for her — affection's tear 
Falls not alone from kindred eyes, 

The poor turn sorrowing from the bier, 
Where low their Benefactress lies. 

Her place is vacant by the hearth, 

Where long she charmed the social train, 

While brilliant wit, and graceful mirth 
Proclaimed her fascinating reign. 



47* 

The place is vacant where she stood 

The sufferings of the poor to plead, 
Appealing to the kind and good 

For succour in their hour of need* 
And vacant is the station proud 

She filled with highly gifted mind, 
Soaring above the common crowd, 

By talents, virtues, tastes refined. 

Where OrwelVs waters proudly flow, 
Upon whose banks she dwelt so long, 

Those shades no more her presence know, 
Nor echoes Holy Wells her song. 

By memory's power, (though lost to sight) 

Her image on our hearts impressed, 
Still lives in colours fair and bright, 

And whispers each aspiring breast, 
That talents when with virtues reared, 

Are God's peculiar blessings given, 
To make the mortal here revered, 

And the immortal loved in heaven* 






The Editor has been much gratified by the favor of 
thefolbrving Characteristic Sketch, from the pen of 
Mrs. Cockle, which she regrets she did not receive 
until her Memoir was printed. She is happy 
however to avail herself of the opportunity of appends 
ing to the present Volume so elegant a corroboration 
of her own sentiments.-— In this Edition also, among 
a considerable number of additional Poems, are in* 
eluded those alluded to in the Memoir, 

CHARACTER OF MRS. COBBOLD, 

" In sketching this brief memorial, and paying the 
tribute of friendship to departed worth and genius , 
it is unnecessary to employ the pencil of fancy, or 
the tints of imagination to heighten the picture ; it 
will be sufficient to paint, but as she was, her whom 
the voice of praise can no longer reach, and who 
alas ! now offers us from the tomb, subjects for 
contemplation, beyond even the splendor of talents, 
or the charms of universal acquirements. These 
indeed, gave Mrs. Cobbold the most distinguished 
place in society, and elevated her almost above 
her sex ;— but beyond even these, was she raised to 



50* 

a higher and better distinction, in the sacred cha- 
racters of wife, parent and friend. In all these, she 
ever appeared with a gentleness and sweetness of 
manner, that threw over her masculine strength of 
mind and knowledge, that mildness which so pe- 
culiarly belongs to woman, and is her best charac- 
teristic. In the performance of her duties, amidst the 
various and extensive domestic claims upon her time, 
and her attention, her virtues more prominent than 
even her abilities, threw at a distance her extraor- 
dinary and various mental acquirements : acquire- 
ments, confined exclusively, neither to languages, 
sciences, or accomplishments, for all these had come 
within her reach, and all had been attained by her." 
Independence was to her " but that larger power 
of doing good," which led to the most extensive 
benevolence, and to the support of those charitable 
Institutions to which she gave not only her patron- 
age jointly with others, but her time, her exertions, 
and example ; more particularly to that of which 
she was the foundress. 

In the domestic circle, she was the centre, round 
which, not respect and affection only, but all its 
cheerful enjoyments moved, and to the amuse- 
ment of the young she constantly contributed. 
Friendship was not with her a sunbeam, visible 



51* 

only amongst the gay, and the great; but a 
genial ray of warmth and brightness, beaming 
to dispel the clouds of sorrow and misfortune 
and extending to the encouragement of talent, in 
whatever form it appeared. 

The benevolent expression of her countenance 
seemed to spring entirely from her heart ; and the 
mildness of her manner made the one sex forget, 
and the other forgive, that rare superiority of intellect 
which would have almost placed her beyond a wo- 
man's sphere, had she not equally possessed all those 
feelings, and shone equally conspicuous in those 
pursuits and occupations, which are peculiarly 
characteristic of, and honorable to the female sex. 
To a mind gifted and enriched in so extraordinary a 
degree as Mrs. Cobbold's, even the pride of genius 
might have been forgiven — But in her, all these 
great and high acquirements were seen resting on 
their only solid basis, those true and steady religious 
principles which disdaining equally the violence of 
bigotry, and the lukevvarmness of indifference, led 
her to the practise of every christian virtue, and the 
performance of every christian duty*' 



TO A YOUNG ARTIST, 

Who told the Author thai she could not feel the char, 
of Rural Scenery, 

Ah ! who, with impious language bold. 
Shall say that Laura's heart is cold ; 

Shall say she cannot feel ? 
That nature owns no pow*rful charm, 
No lovely scene whose glow can warm 

That rigid breast of steel ? 

They never mark'd her eager gaze, 
Ere age had check'd each childish joy, 
Or stole the lustre from her eye, 

Deep penetrate the woodland maze 

To view the brown o'er-hanging shade, 
Where stole the riv'let thro' the glade. 

Where antique oaks their branches threw 

Across the little limpid stream, 

And shelter'd from the solar beam 

Each timid flower of tend'rest hue. 
o 



34 

The foliage pendent o'er the brook 
Reflected from its wave serene, 
The peaceful shadow still and green 

Of some dark alder-skirted nook : 

Dear was the solemn silence there ; 
And dear the slow wave gliding bye : 

But dearer still the tender tear 

Soft stealing from the downcast eye ! 

Then Laura lov'd the mountain's brow ; 
For then, with airy footsteps light, 
She gain'd bold Rydal's woody height 

To view the clear blue lake below. 

Its wide expanse, its varied shore, 

Of massy rock or verdant hill, 
The near cascade's resounding roar, 

The distant echoing mountain rill ; 
Enrapt in fancy's dream sublime 

She paus'd romantic o'er the scene, 
Till darkness mark'd the lapse of time, 

And evening spread her hues serene. 
Then as night cast her shady stole 

O'er the wide landscape calm and still, 
Deep solemn visions touch'd her soul, 

Of bold Poussin's majestic skill. 



35 

Of Wilson's classic pencil, true 
To all that strikes the feeling heart 

That breathes, o'er each enchanting view 
Pure nature's soul, the pride of art. 

Or stray'd she through the hedge-row'd lane 

To some still rustic dwelling near, 
Some lowly cottage neat and plain, 

To ruddy health and labour dear. 
Its moss-green roof, its vine-clad side 

Seen thro' a groupe of aged trees, 
Its little garden's flow'ry pride 

Its bucket well, its hives of bees. 
There, industry, thy ruddy sons 

And blooming daughters, pleas'd entwine. 
The scatter'd hop that idly runs, 

And careful train the tender bine. 
Then, if the noon-ray deck the scene 
With shorten'd shade and light serene, 
Sweet Hobbima ! she sighs for thee 
To paint the cot and sun-gilt tree, 
Or tries, with fainter skill, to trace 
The simple dwelling's modest grace : 
In vain the mimic art she tries, 

No power to her does nature give 

To bid the fair idea live, 



36 

And beauty from her pencil flies : 
Yet tho' unskill'd with force to dart 

On canvas genius* living ray, 
The scenery painted on her heart, 

May grace her unambitious lay. 

Then check, mistaken youth, the thought 

That Laura's breast no feeling warms ; 
Thou know'st she feels as virtue ought, 

Each rural landscapes' glowing charms. 
She bade thy timid genius spring 
From earth, and try its youthful wing, 

She aided too its flight : 
Though now, its early efforts o'er 
Like Jove's own bird, it dare to soar 

To realms of purer light. 



£ a? 

MATLOCK, 

Or Me Metamorphosis of Darweni. 

Come, artless Muse, who from the heathy hill 

The craggy mountain, or re-echoing cave 

Pour'st thy wild notes responsive to the sound 

Of rustic flute, come, with thy sweetest tones 

Inspire my verse ! I sing of rural haunts 

Congenial to my taste, where Nature holds 

Her court, and scorns the little aids of art, 

Thron'd on the rocks that shadow Matlock's vale : 

While at her feet the murmuring Darwent flows, 

Swift rolling, eager to embrace the brook 

Which gushing from the health-bestowing spring 

Its pure wave mingles with his shining flood. 

Hail sacred fountain ! not the fam'd Vaucluse 

Rivals thy charms, tho' Petrarch's tender lay 

And Laura's beauty consecrate its name ; 

For fancy loiters o'er thee with delight, 

While friendship's fond remembrance, and the joys 

That ardent hope in vivid colors drew 

To lure the young enthusiast, haunt thy stream. 

The tender theme forbear : Let sprightlier lays 

Re-echo from the cliffs — and charm the groves 
B 3 



38 

That nodding hang o'er Darwent's silver flood ; 
Darwent, whose gliding mirror shews a scene 
More nobly varied than the skilful hand 
Of brilliant Claude, or Rosa more sublime 
E'er on the canvas, with creative pow'r 
Wak'd into mimic glow. How high the rock 
Lifts its proud brow, while up its steepy side 
The Waving forests emulously climb ! 
Deep in the cleft by human foot untrod 
The dark oak strikes his roots; thence waves his arms 
Authoritative, monarch of the wood ! 
From the grey crag, the ash protruding wreathes 
His tortuous stem, by strong conflicting winds 
Convolv'd, and snagg'd with knots, till rising firm 
It braves the howling storm's collected force. 
The poplar, shiv'ring to the sighing breeze 
Fearful erects her trembling head, that tall 
And graceful rises, tow'ring o'er the grove 
Where on the fringed margin of the flood 
The bending alders form a bow'ry glade. 
How sweet, at noon tide's fervid hour to walk 
When glittering beams, reflected from the wave 
Scarce with their trembling radiance pierce the gloom 
How silent all ! how still ! The stream is hush'd, 
And smoothly flows upon his pebbled bed : 
The distant murmurs of the falling rill 



39 

Soothe, not disturb the calm, while o'er her nest 

And callow young, the tender stock-dove cooes. 

These are the bow'rs of Inspiration, these 

The haunts of Poesy, where oft she pours 

On the rapt mind her bright extatic dreams. 

Here on her mossy throne, o'er canopied 

With hawthorn, andsweet woodbine's tangling shoots 

She sits, .and at the stillest hour of night 

To the pale moon's half intercepted beam 

Chaunts the sad tale of Darwent's hapless love, 

And gentle Therma's melancholy fate. 

Darwent, the guardian of the neighb'ring stream, 
Pour'd from his shining urn the watery store 
Through many a lovely vale, yet never view'd 
A nymph more fair than Therma of the hill : 
Her long he wooed with ev'ry winning art 
That love could practise, oft exulting bore 
His choicest treasures, spars and veiny ores 
Sparkling with gem-like radiance to her feet. 
By perseverance and attention won 
The nymph assenting smil'd. — One summer's eve, 
When the sweet Blackbird trill 'd his latest note 
And ev'ry passing Zephyr whisper'd love, 
She blushing vow'd that e'er the morrow's sun 
Could gild the vale, his earliest glancing ray 



40 

Beaming upon the mountain's misty top 

Should see her Darwent's bride — how vain the vow ! 

Torr, the malignant spirit of the rock 

From his dark cell, close curtain'd with the leaves 

Of lethale night-shade, and pale ivy, heard 

The tender promise, heard it with a pang ! 

For love he hated, and each blissful hour 

That others knew through his unsocial heart 

Shot torments fell and keen, for he was fram'd 

For mischief dire, and subtle murd'rous plots .* 

His best delight to guide the howling storm 

That wreck'd the poor man's hopes, unroof *d his cot, 

And blasted all his long expected joys. 

Now through the midnight air on sullen wing, 

Baleful he flew, and from the distant fens 

Dragg'd the full volum'd clouds with sulphur fraught, 

Then led them on in terrible array, 

Till o'er the cliffs they hung, portentous, dark, 

And threat'ning ruin to the shadow'd vale. 

Reluctant morning rose with tearful eye 

When Therma, tripping o'er the dewy hill, 

To meet her Darwent, eyed the gath'ring storm 

And sigh'd and trembled as it onward roll'd, 

Sudden the light'ning flash'd — the rending bolt 

Tore the firm mountain, with tremendous crash, 

And, yawning at her feet, the hill disclos'd 



41 

A cavern vast and drear — Aghast she stood— 
Fierce Torr exultant scream'd " the prize is mine," 
" And thus I seize my prey" — With hideous stride 
Bounding across the vale, he stretch'd his arm 
But grasp'd the mocking air, for urg'd by fear, 
The nymph had plung'd into the gaping chasm 
And brav'd its unknown depth — With horror struck 
He started back, and met the awful flame 
lhat launch'd, impetuous from a low'ring cloud, 
Pursu'd its rapid way : the blazing dart 
Pierc'd his broad chest, and fix'd him to the rock 
Where still his pond'rous bulk o'erhangs the stream 
By mocking ages harden'd into stone. — 
Not so fair Therma : — down the cavern steep 
She rush'd, and dashing 'gainst its rugged sides 
Sprent its dark cliffs with gore, till mangled, torn, 
And breathless, on the stony floor she fell. 
A pitying rill that softly trickled down 
From an o'er-arching crag, with gentle care 
Wash'd her still bleeding breast, and fondly stray'd 
Around her lifeless limbs, while from her heart 
The vital flood, pure swelling, join'd its waves, 
And in warm streams stole darkling thro' the hill : 
Then, sudden bursting from the mossy bank, 
It fell, soft murmuring into Darwent's arms; 
Darwent, who, hastning to the nuptial bow'r 



42 

Had view d, too distant view'd, the dreadful scene, 
Conscious of Therma's fate, with tears receiv'd 
The precious rill, and still embracing guards 
Its waters, ever warm, and still complains : 
Till madden'd by the sight of baleful Torr, 
He roars, and raves, and speeds his angry flood, 
Foaming with fury, through the echoing vale* 

Here cease the fabled theme — Let fairer truth 
And lovelier nature animate the lay — 
Sing Muse the beauty of the varied scene 
When the first dawnings of a summer's sun 
Streak the gay east; when rosy-finger'd morn 
Sweeps o'er the valley, stealing gems of dew 
From trembling blossoms, and with balmy breath 
Curls the soft silver wave. The rising mists 
Hang yet recumbent o'er the dusky wood : 
The Linnet springing from his downy nest, 
Shakes the bright moisture from his russet wing, 
And gaily answers, with melodious trills, 
The clearer warblings of the soaring lark 
That, high in aether pois'd, with early song 
Wakes the glad choir to hail the bright 'ning day : 
Sweet smells each op'ningbloom,the hare bell blue, 
The fragrant hedge-rose, and the campion gay, 
The bashful orchis shrouded in the dell, 



43 

The light germander, and the numerous tribe 
Of cranes-bill vermeil tinted— -thousands more 
Of name unknown to song perfume the glade 
And spread their charms alluring, to the eye 
Of the enraptured Botanist, who strolls 
Contemplative along the mead, and reads 
In detail nature's all enchanting page. 
Delightful now to climb the mountain's height 
And thro* the cool clear air, with joyous glance 
View the blue landscape spreading all around ! 
The distant hill, in sether faintly trac'd, 
The nearer cultured vales where plenty smiles 
On ripening harvests, forests, winding streams, 
And spire-grac'd villages, and happy farms, 
From Whence the bleat of sheep and low of kine 
And the hoarse rumbling of the loaded wain, 
In mingled murmurs swell the whispering gale. 
Sweet smells the tedded hay — the humming bees 
Forth issuing from their hive, the hollow trunk 
Of some time- wasted tree, on sounding wings 
Pursue their mazy flight o'er beds of thyme, 
And gaily fluttering round the dewy blooms 
Collect their luscious store. Now rosy health 
Through the lawn curtain on a sunbeam glides 
To wake the sleeping fair, and bids her plunge 
Into the lucid wave : with careless haste 



44 

She rises, lightly rob'd, and in the flood 
Her limbs and flowing tresses sportive laves 
Then, bending o'er the watery mirror, views 
The roses fresh'ning on her dimpled cheek. 
Delightful too the soften'd gales of eve 
When down the vale we stray, and friendly chat 
Beguiles the passing hour ! with converse sweet 
Of literature and manners, life and books 
We form the social mind, and pleas'd excite 
The smile of approbation, or enchant 
By mild attentions' more endearing grace. 

Hark, the loud bell from yonder lengthen'd roof 
Sends forth a joyous signal ! freed from care 
Blythe industry's gay sons and daughters run 
With frolic step, along the beaten path 
White with the treasures from the fleecy shrub 
Of either India torn. How well the laugh 
Becomes each cheek, as emulous they boast 
Who best with rugged cards prepar'd the wool 
Who rov'd the doubling flakes, or drew the thread 
With nicest skill, or twin'd its slender folds 
With neatest art to form the snowy robes 
That float in graceful negligence, and deck 
In simple elegance the British fair ! 
Hail industry ! thy jocund mate Content 



45 

Here forms thy rustic bow'r, here spreads thy board 
And dwells delighted with thy harmless train. 
Give me to view thy spirit-cheering face 
Where'er I walk, whether in crouded streets 
Where commerce guides thee, or on peaceful plains 
Where the brightploughshare turns the fruitful glebe, 
Or in the regulated halls where art 
Prepares the various treasures of the loom. 
Still will I welcome thee ; still call thee blest, 
The poor man's honor and the nation's wealth. 

Now sinks the sun behind the western hill 
The lengthen'd shadows half obscure the vale 
And the dun Cuckoo, with unvaried note 
Greets the red lustre of departing day. 
Slowly the shades of night enfold the scene 
'Till e'en the zephyrs sink into repose 
Envelop'd in the universal calm. 
Thus when our night of death, Alphonso comes, 
May it move gently on, serene and soft, 
Kind presage of a glorious future dawn. 



46 



AN EVENING AT THE CLIFF ; * 

One lovely Summer's eve I sought 
The well-remember'd ancient bower ; 

I found it trimly deck'd, and fraught 
With many a sweet and pleasant flower. 

Some grew in pristine beauty there, 

Which I in youth had rear'd and planted ; 

The river wound as brightly near, 
And still the birds as sweetly chaunted. 

There too the welcome and the smile 
Of long continued friendship found me, 

And infant voices, free from guile, 
With bly the affection prattled round me. 

Fringed by the sun's last crimson gleam, 
Fantastic western clouds were glowing, 

And up the scarcely dimpled stream 
The stilly tide was gently flowing. 

As on the edge of that lov'd strand, 

With soothing fondness, memory hover'd, 

Each pebbled hill, each bank of sand, 

The waves in silent progress cover'd. 

* The Cliff, the former Residence of the Author, is situa- 
ted on the banks of the River Orwell, near Ipswich. 



47 

Nor could the eye their motion note, 

Save as light weeds the land-line skirted : 

The stream so glassy round the boat, 
Its shadow seem'd a boat inverted. 

When twilight came, with sober hue, 
In massy shades the landscape veiling, 

The darken'd forms sublimer grew 
Of vessels homeward slowly sailingo 

My soften'd spirit felt the balm 

Of mercy on that scene descending, 

And fancied, in its holy calm, 
That earth with heaven was surely blending* 

So may the tide of years, I said, 
For me flow on in noiseless measure ; 

Thus, in its still oblivious spread, 
Steal, one by one, each earthly pleasure : 

And forms that late were fair and bright, 
By youth and fancy gaily painted, 

Still greet me through the fading light, 
In vision'd shades sublime and sainted. 

When, Power supreme ! thy fiat blest 
My chequered day of life is closing, 

O ! let me gently sink to rest, 
On thy eternal love reposing. 



48 



THE EOLIAN HARP. 

O ! whence those sounds of soft delight 
That wafted on the breath of night 

Steal o'er the list'ning ear ? 
What master's skill the harp is proving > 
What genius in wild measures moving, 

To taste and feeling dear, 
Can such new thoughts with daring hand pursue, 
In melody so graceful, chords so true ? 

List to those trembling, changing notes, 
Whose frolic air so lightly floats ! 

It seems a strain of joy 
In fitful fairy dances rushing, 
While rills, from rocky fountains gushing, 

Soft harmony supply, 
Where science, loit'ring playful, loves to trace 
The lengthen'd organ point, the murmur'd bass* 

'Tis surely music from the court 
Of Oberon, whose festive sport 
Salutes the harvest moon ; 



49 

Each melody, so gaily blending, 
Beginning from the others ending, 

In one continuous tune : 
The heart with pleasure beating high, 
Is all alive to mirth and joy. 

The rapid movement dies, 
And thrilling sounds arise, 

Each changing key and mood, 
In plaintive discords syncopating, 
Such sadden'd euphony creating, 

The touching theme pursued 
Might give the soul that tender tone, 
That makes each fabled grief its own. 

Hark ! 'tis a distant choir, 

With mingled voice and " quiv'ring wire/ 

And organ's solemn sound ! 
Now boldly swell'd, now gently dying, 
While echoes, from each cave replying, 

Spread sympathy around : 
Methinks in heav'n sweet seraphs raise 
To golden harps the hymn of praise. 

And now a loud, a martial strain, 
From bastion'd fort, or tented plain, 



50 

Comes proudly sweeping bye : 
The symbal, fife, and trumpet playing, 
The drum's long roll, the war-steed's neighing, 

All welcome victory ! 
What added triumphs wake the song 
Which shouts and pealing bells prolong ? 

O ! 'twas refin'd delusion all ! 

Nor mirth, nor grief, nor triumph's call, 

Has on the night- wind crept. 
Each varied sound that fancy seizes, 
From six small strings, by passing breezes 

In undulations swept, 
Held o'er the ear a strange controul, 
And touch'd the heart and hYd the soul. 

! ever when, at midnight hour, 

1 wooe the muse's magic pow'r 
For strains to nature dear, 

Still, heav'n's own hand the breeze directing, 
To heav'n's own voice the strings inflecting, 

Be mine that harp to hear, 
Till ev'ry nerve with rapture own, 
The pure, the more than mortal tone ! 



51 



TO DR. GWYN. * 

Come, gentle Nymph, of downcast eye, 
Whose bosom heaves the raptur'd sigh, 
Who lov'st unsought, unseen, to dwell 
Near melancholy's mossy cell : 
Wilt thou, enthusiastic maid 
Forsake the lone romantic shade, 
Nor stern the suppliant's prayer refuse 
That wooes thee, dear delightful Muse ? 
Thy fairy footsteps have I trac'd 
Across the wide, and heathy waste, 
Pursu'd thee thro' the shady dale 
Or wandering in the dewy vale, 
Where gentle gales the notes prolong 
Have heard thee in the voice of song. 
On the grey cliffs' impending brow 
Oft have I sat, to mark the rill 
That sparkling down the rocky hill, 
Rush'd murmuring o'er the crags below 
And ever and anon, methought 
Kind echo, with thy accents fraught, 

* Dr. Nicholas Gwyn died at his house in Ipswich 
January 20, 1798, in the 88th year of his age. lie studied 
Physic under the great Boerhaave at Leyden, in Holland, 
where he resided several years ; he was well skilled in 
Botany, 



52 

Soft whisper'd to my listening ear 
" The Muse, Eliza, holds thee dear." 
Then rapture hung on every sound, 
And inspiration breath'd around, 
Then fancy, roll'd the eye of fire, 
And waken'd music's trembling wire ; 
While o'er my soul, by thee impell'd 
Full extacys' delirium swell'd ; 
Or did my timid footsteps stray 
Where holy science points the way, 
Amid the haunts to wisdom dear 
The much-lov'd Muse would still be near, 
Yes, nymph, I found thy magic reign 
Extend thro' nature's wide domain : 
I saw thee paint the flowers of spring, 
I mark'd thee gild the insect's wing, 
The air on feather'd pinions cleave, 
Or glide beneath the glassy wave. 
And oft to cheer the mazy way, 
Thou bad'st me raise the tuneful lay. 
The midnight taper as I sung 
A brighter radiance round me flung ; 
Pale study freshen'd at the view 
And learning glow'd in rosy hue. 

Yes, lov'd by fancy, nature, taste, 
'Tis thine at friendship's call to haste, 



53 

Bid rapture float upon the strain, 
Or sorrow's sadden'd lute complain. 
Thou breath'st again the cheerful lay- 
On this thy well-remember'd day, 
Again the voice of song is giv'n 
To cheer my Friend at eighty-seven : 
O, could that voice, that varied strain 
Soothe, sweetly soothe, the hour of pain ; 
At morn and eve the lyre I'd string 
Soft notes in friendship's ear to sing ; 
Till pale disease before me fled, 
And pleasure crown'd that sacred head. 
'Tis not of roses gay, that blow 
Upon the gaudy cheek of spring ; 
'Tis not of youth's empurpled glow, 
Or beauty's piercing glance I sing : 
Far other themes my Muse engage, 
Her kisses greet the brow of age ; 
The hoary hair, the furrow'd cheek, 
The smile serene, the aspect meek, 
Keen sense that from her throne sublime 
Repels the vain attacks of time ; 
With candour, falsehood ne'er could stain, 
And fortitude that conquers pain, 
These are the charms my song approves, 
These reason praises, virtue loves ; 



54 

Then let the narrow'd breast of pride 
The verse disdain, the song deride : 
I court not fortune's giddy wheel 
Or sing to hearts that cannot feel : 
My mind abjures the venal strain 
And scoffs at splendour's gilded chain, 
But if, dear Gwyn, my humble lyre 
Thy heart with one delight inspire, 
If sweet, to thee, the numbers flow 
And in thy bosom pleasure glow ; 
! Tis all the meed those numbers claim 
Thy smiles, my laurel and my fame. 

Long may that elevated mind 
Thro' learning Vwalks range unconfin'd, 
That converse gay, that look serene 
Breathe rapture o'er the social scene. 
Long round thefheart-strings friendship twine, 
And ever be that friendship mine. 
July 16, 1797. 



55 



THE LAMENT OF MORVINA, 

From " The Sword, or Father Bertrand's History of 
his own Times," 

NO sprightly sounds of joy 
Breathe to the Harp, or tremble from its strings. 

Ye echoing caverns sigh ! 
Responsive to the north wind's rushing wings; 
Sad harmony to that within my breast, 
Break, sufPring heart ! and let the mourner rest* 

Ye, solitary tow'rs ! 
Where the sad owl shrinks from the glaring day, 

Behold your ruin'd bow'rs ! 

Clad with pale ivy and destructive bay. 

So clinging woes my ruin'd hopes invest, 

Break, sufPring heart ! and let the mourner rest. 

Thou, plaintive bird of eve ! 
That mourn'st thine absent mate on yonder spray 

O ! teach my harp to grieve, 
Tun'd to thy sorrow-modulated lay, 
My grief, how truly in thy notes exprest ! 
Break, suff 'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest, 



56 

How late the rose of joy, 
Displayed its beauties op'ning to the morn, 

Relentless fate past bye 
Cropt the fair rose, and left me sorrow's thorn i 

That thorn deep rankles in my wounded breast, 
Break, suff'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest. 

Yet, virtue's steady ray 
Shines thro' the horrors of affliction's gloom ; 

It gilds my lonely way 
And shews me hope ascending from the tomb: 

Thither I haste, O tomb ! receive thy guest, 
Break, suff'ring heart ! and let the mourner rest. 



57 

STANZAS, 

From " The Sword," fyc. 

When wide the swelling torrents pour, 
And wintry blasts at midnight sigh, 

When loud descends the rattling show'r, 
And black'ning clouds involve the sky. 

The wand'rer, helpless and forlorn, 
Regrets in vain his humble shed, 

While swift on clashing whirlwinds borne 
The tempest gathers o'er his head. 

Hopeless, of sheltering refuge nigh, 
Trembling he seeks the forest shade, 

But starting views with sudden joy, 
A cottage bosom'd in the glade. 

He springs to reach the welcome spot, 
And well-known voices greet his ear, 

Rejoic'd he hails his native cot, 

How distant fancied, found how near. 

So pleas'd, I hail this happy glen, 

Where shrouding from the storms of care, 

1 flew to Modred's arms again, 
And rapture triumph'd o'er despair. 



58 



TO A LADY, 

With her Husband's Picture. 1808. 



The Artist, if the pencil's feeble aid 

Could to the soul's strong sentiments reply, 
Had wit and gentle manners here pourtray'd 

With nature, worth and sense of honor high, 
But should these features to your marking eye, 

No perfect animated semblance give, 
Your fancy well can all defects supply, 

And paint the looks that in your eye -glance live. 
To ev'ry grace of person, mind, and heart, 

To all that friendship, truth and sense approve, 
'Twas yours affection's fervour to impart, 

And light each feature with the smile of love. 
Then if you think these graces faintly shown, 

Blame not the Artist's pow'r but prize your own. 



59 



THE LILY OF NETTLESTEAD, 



Henrietta Maria, the fair heroine of the following stanzas, 
and the celebrated and beloved mistress of the unfortunate Duke 
of Monmouth, was the only daughter and heir of Thomas, Lord 
Wentworth, of Nettlestead, the eldest son of Thomas, the 1st 
Earl of Cleveland. She was a woman of an elegant person, most 
engaging manners, and the highest accomplishments. Lady 
Wentworth resided for many years at Toddington, in the county 
of Bedford, with the Duke, her lover, whose attachment to her 
continued to his death. She is said to have died broken-hearted, 
in consequence of his untimely end. It is certain, however, that 
she survived his execution but a few months, and was buried at 
Toddington, under a costly monument. Several great grand- 
children of this unhappy connection are living, and inherit the 
characteristic features, and personal beauty of their ancestors. 
May they inherit happier fortunes ! There is a fine whole length 
portrait of this Lady engraved by R. Williams from a painting 
of Sir G. Kneller. 

Through the echoing covert the bugle resounds, 
The shouts of the chase, and the cry of the hounds ; 
And, gallantly riding, the hunters are seen, 
In bonnets, and feathers, and surcoats of green : 



60 

The merry lord Lovelace* is leading them all, 
To feast with his cousin in Nettlestead Hall. § 

That cousin is wealthy, that cousin is fair, 
Is Wentworth, and Cleveland,, and Nettlestead's heir ; 
Her smile is the sunshine of innocent youth ; 
Her heart is the throne of affection and truth ; 
Her dark glossy ringlets luxuriantly flow 
Contrasting and arching her forehead of snow : 
This flow'ret of beauty and sweetness, they call 
Henrietta, the Lily of Nettlestead Hall ! 

A stranger, in manhood and gallantry's pride, 
The merry lord Lovelace has placed by her side : 
Forbidden his station and name to disclose, 
He calls him " Sir Alured, knight of the rose :" 
How winning his graces and courtesy prove ! 
His ardent affection soon fixes her love, 
And, secretly, wedlock's soft fetters enthral 
The delicate Lily of Nettlestead Hall. 

* He was the only son of John, the 2nd. Lord Lovelace, 
by the Lady Anne, daughter of Thomas, the 1st. Earl of 
Cleveland. 

§ Till within these few years past, a very considerable 
portion of the Old Hall was remaining in its pristine state. 
It is situated near the Church, and was formerly surrounded 
by a wall, a great part of which is still existing. The gate- 
way still remains ; and on the spandrils of the arch are two 
shields, sculptured with the Wentworth arms and other nu- 
merous quarterings. The mansion has been lately moderni- 
zed and new fronted by the present proprietor. 



61 

What pages mysterious has fate to unfold ? 
Her husband is Monmouth,* the royal and bold, 
And he whom she trusted as loyal and true, 
Had previously wedded the heir of Buccleugh : 
At her feet in despondence and agony thrown, 
He swears that his faith and his vows are her own, 
That his marriage of boyhood illegal shall prove, 
And heav'n seal the union of nature and love. 
Affections so mated, O ! say, can they part ? 
She yields to that eloquent pleader the heart, 
Deciding, through changes of climate and state, 
To share unrepining his fortune and fate : 
Remov'd from her native, her fostering shades, 
Untimely the Lily of Nettlestead fades. 

Ah Monmouth ! brave Monmouth ! thy glories are fled ; 
And low in the dust lies thy blood-streaming head ! 
Those lips still seem, warm with the redolent breath, 



* James, Duke of Monmouth and Buccleugh, the eldest 
natural son of Charles Ilnd. by Mrs. Lucy Walters, the 
daughter of Richard Walters, of Haverford-West in the 
county of Pembroke, Esq. He was born at Rotterdam, and 
bore the name of James Crofts till his Majesty's Restoration. 
His creation to the title of Duke of Monmouth was to grace 
his nuptials with the Lady Anne, the daughter and sole heir 
of Francis, Earl of Buccleugh, who was then esteemed the 
greatest fortune and the finest woman, in the three king- 
doms. 



62 

Those eyelids, like violets, lovely in death ; 

With no fond awaking again shall they move, 

Though nurs'd on thy lily's soft bosom of love ! 

As still to his image her fancy returns, 

The mourner is paler than him whom she mourns, 

And calm are her features, and calm is her air, 

All fix'd in the sadness of settled despair ; 

No sigh swells her breast, and no tear-drop her eyes, 

But blighted, the Lily of Nettlestead dies. 



EXTEMPORE 

On observing two young Ladies with wreaths of Ivy 
which shaded their Faces, 

O'er the lone Hermit's gloomy bow'r 

Let baleful ivy spread, 
And mantle round the sinking tow'r 

Or ruin'd castle's head. 

On roseate cheeks and temples fair 
Its branches ne'er should stray ; 

Since none can think the structure there 
Is falling to decay. 



63 
TO MISS HARTCUP, * 

With her Bosom Friend which she had left in the 
Assembly-room, t 

Say does the unavailing sigh 

The fair-one's gentle bosom rend ? 

Or falls the tear from Anna's eye 

To mourn her absent Bosom Friend i 

Gay was the hour, the viols sound 
Awoke each youthful heart to pleasure ; 

While mingling in the mazy round, 
Blythe mirth kept time to ev'ry measure 

Light as the sun-form'd threads of dew 
That sport on summer's balmy wind. 

To join the dance fair Anna flew 
But left her Bosom Friend behind. 

The measure o'er, the sprightly youths 
With smiles and bows her steps attend : 

But learn, ye fair, important truths ; 

She wish'd to find a Bosom Friend. 

" Now the Wife of William Gravatt, Esq. Assistant In- 
spector of the Royal Academy at Woolwich ; and late Lieut. 
Col. in the Corps of Royal Engineers. 

■f A swan's-down covering for the bosom so called. 



64 

From lively circles she retires 
And casts an anxious look around, 

But hope in vain her heart inspires, 
No Bosom Friend, alas ! is found ! 

Then to her quiet shelt'ring home 

She bends her steps, with trembling haste, 
But fears the evening's chilly gloom, 

And shivers in the wint'ry blast. 

Thus, led by hope, the Sailor's bride 
Mounts the tall cliff that tow'rs on high, 

And gazes o'er the ocean wide 
Her lover's white sail to descry. 

Till evening's shadows dank and grey. 
The wide spread wat'ry scene enclose, 

Then home she takes her weary way 
And weeps and trembles as she goes. 

But you my fair no longer mourn, 
Receive with smiles the waif I send; 

Accept the wanderer's late return, 
Nor quit again your Bosom Friend. 



65 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF TASSO, 



favorite Spaniel of the late Thomas Green, Esq. 
of Ipswkh. 

Fills the big tear the quiv'ring eye ? 

Reluctant heaves the manly breast, 
While fortitude repels the sigh, 

And holds the struggling tear represt ? 
Let folly mock, and taunting pride 

The humble Spaniel's duty scorn, 
Or the world-hackney'd heart deride 

The sorrows pour'd on Tasso's urn. 
Sunk is his eye that mark'd thy thought 

And bade his patient steps attend ; 
And lost the upward glance that caught 

The meaning of his guardian friend. 
Joy's frolic bound, the crouch of fear, 

The tender whine, the prostrate head, 
The fond caress to mem'ry dear, 

All bid thee mourn for Tasso dead. 

D 



m 

Then freely breathe the feeling sigh, 

The soothing tear, O ! bid it flow : 
To pity give the streaming eye, 

That weeps in unaffected woe. 
Or, if thou deem'st this tribute vain, 

Pour thy pure numbers clear and strong, 
Let Tasso claim thy verse again, 

And live immortaliz'd in song. 



EXTEMPORE 

On seeing the two beautiful Daughters of Sir 
J, Call at an Assembly* 

Full many a lovely maid and dame 
In vain asserts her beauty's claim 

To grace the ball ; 
But who shall perfect beauty name 

And not Miss-Call ? 



or 



LINES ON THE RIVER GIPPING, 

No more my youthful fancy roves, 
With Muses, in Castalian groves, 

Pierian waters sipping ; 
I quit the fabled hill and stream, 
Descending to an humbler theme, 

The flow'ry banks of Gipping 

In place of laurel-cover'd glades, 

And nymphs reclin'd in myrtle shades. 

And sportive dryads skipping ; 
I'll praise the walk where daisies spring, 
And Ipswich beauties love-tales sing, 

To gentle murm'ring Gipping. 

What, tho' thy neighbour Orwell boast 

His variegated length of coast, 

His busy trade and shipping ; 

Tell him that happiness may stray, 

Where pomp could never find the way, 

And glide thro' vales with Gipping. 
d % 



68 

No envious sands thy course perplex, 
No howling storms thy waters vex, 

Their shores of verdure stripping ; 
Thy peaceful streams translucent glide, 
While flow'rets bend on either side 

To view themselves in Gipping, 

i 

And tho' no trees in song renown'd, 
With golden fruit luxuriant crown'd, 

Not e'en the golden pippin ; 
In stately rows thy banks adom, 
Yet breezes from the blossom'd thorn 

Waft fragrance over Gipping. 

Around the beech and spreading lime 
Embracing woodbines gaily climb, 

Their branches fondly clipping ; 
And willows bow to kiss the flood, 
As if delighted to be view'd 

By sweetly smiling Gipping. 

Self pleas'd Narcissus by thy side, 
His lovely form in all its pride, 

And all its charms equipping ; 
His beauty in the mirror eyes, 
And for the wat'ry image sighs, 

Eeflected fair by Gipping. 



69 

May gentle zephyr's balmy wing 
Around thee spread eternal spring,. 

No frost its blossoms nipping ; 
But fairest flow'rs the sense delight. 
And ever verdant meads invite 

The fair to walk by Gipping* 

May beauty roam serenely there, 
With chaste eyed virtue ever near, 

To guard her steps from slipping ; 
And calm content with brow serene* 
Diffuse her blessings o'er the scene, 

Enrich'd by tranquil Gipping. 

Thy placid face oft let me view, 
Dimpled by morn's collected dew, 

From o'er charg'd branches dipping ; 
When lucid gems on ev'ry spray 
Are glittering in the eastern ray. 

That glances bright on Gipping* 

If summer's beams too fierce invade, 
To some protecting friendly shade 

With jocund footsteps tripping, 
I'll shield me from the noon-tide blaze, 
And chaunt some tale of ancient days 

To soft romantic Gipping. 



70 

I'll sing how cruelly the boar 
The blooming boy Adonis tore, 
His breast with fury ripping, 
Lamenting Cytherea's love, 
In plaintive accents will I move 
The sympathy of Gipping. 

Or else of Orpheus be my strains, 

"Who brav'd grim Pluto's clanking chains, 

Groans, yells, and furies whipping ; 
His faithful love, his lasting woe, 
Shall cause the tender tear to flow, 

And join the stream of Gipping. 

I'll cheat the hour with varied lays, 
Till ev'ning's mild declining rays 

In western waves are dipping ; 
And Philomel, in thrilling song, 
Pours her full hymn of praise along 

The bosom of her Gipping, 

Till, courted by a cooling breeze, 
The moon slow rises o'er the trees, 

Their tops with silver tipping : 
Then to my peaceful cot I'll hie, 
Wooe gentle sleep to close my eye, 

And dream of happy Gipping. 



71 



ON THE DEATH OF 

FRANCESCO BORONE; 

When great ones die ? a venal train 
Of poets pour the sorrowing strain : 
To humble merit will the muse 
A modest requiem then refuse— 



* Francis Borone was born at Milan, April 6th. 1769* 
An active, enquiring mind led him at an early age from his 
native country ; and his talents, under the influence of a 
person he esteemed and respected, were easily turned to 
natural history. His accuracy of discrimination with regard 
to the appearance and characters of plants has rarely heen 
exceeded, and his ardour kept pace with his abilities. After 
overcoming difficulties apparently insurmountable, at Sierra 
Leone, he attended the late professor Sibthorp to Greece, 
with whom he was for eight days blocked up by Pirates at 
Mount Athos. The highest pair onage awaited, him in his 
own country, which he was anxious to deserve rather than 
obtain. But Providence disposed otherwise, for, to the deep 
regret of his friends and fellow travellers, he died by falling 
in his sleep from his chamber window at Athens the 20th. 
of October 1794, and was interred under the shade of a 
mulberry tree, at the church of the Madonna in that city. 
The genus of plants discovered in New Holland, called 
Boroma, were so named, to preserve the memory of this 
martyr to the science of Botany, whose indefatigable zeal 
and singular acuteness, would but for his premature fate, 
soon have procured him other claims to such an honour. 



72 

A lay for one to nature dear, 
The faithful servant, friend sincere ? 
No : 'tis her pleasure to inspire 
Wild melancholy's pensive lyre, 
To breathe soft notes " through glade and gloom, 
And weep o'er merits grassy tomb, 
E'en now she sings in plaintive strains, 
'Mid ruin'd Athens' mould'ring fanes : 
And thus, her ancient haunts among, 
To worth devotes the fun'ral song- 
Fall soft, ye gentle dews of balmy eve ! 

Ye sighing gales, waft night's cool fragrance here ; 
While laurel with the cypress wreath I weave, 
And strew with flowers Francesco's early bier. 

He loved the lonely hour, when twilight gray 
Breathes her romantic stillness o'er the soul; 

When fancy paints her fairy visions gay, 
And the rapt bosom owns her soft controul. 

For pamper'd pride had ne'er misled his youth. 

Rude poverty's invigorating rule 
Taught him the lore of unaffected truth, 

And train'd his studious mind in nature's school. 



73 

He woo'd fair science with unceasing care ; 

With her he sought in distant climes to wend : 
Propitious Heav'n assenting heard his pray'r, 

And in the master gave the generous friend. 

In search of knowledge, on the burning sand 
Of Afric's shores botanic wreaths he twined : 

In vain wild fever wav'd her lurid brand, 
While gratitude and friendship nerved his mind. 



With heart elate, and spirits mounting light, 
To Grecia's famous coasts he bent his way : 

Hope o'er his prospects glanced her meteors bright, 
And danced before him with delusive ray. 

Scarce had he bask'd in that delusive ray, 

Scarce seen those meteor-gilded prospects bloom, 

When death, whose mandate clouds the fairest day, 
Exulting snatch'd him to the dreary tomb. 

Wisdom may bid his weeping friends rejoice 
That he is happy, free from earthly fears. 

In vain shall friendship listen to the voice ; 
As vainly strive to smile away her tears : 



74 

For mem'ry's faithful hand shall fondly trace 
His rising virtues and his soul sincere ; 

Paint science deck'd with youth's enchanting grace ; 
Then place the portrait on Francesco's bier. 

Around his grave the sweetest flow'rs shall spring, 
Bedew'd with sympathizing pity's tear ; 

And zephyr, from his undulating wing, 
For ever shed delightful fragrance there. 

And though no trophies proud, no sculptur'd bust, 
Shall make his tomb to future ages known ; 

Immortal Athens guards his hallow'd dust, 
And consecrates his mem'ry with her own. 



57 






SONNET TO SPRING. 

Breathe, gentle gales, that round my hawthorn play, 
And bly the, in wanton pastime, scatter round 
White blossoms, fragrant on the dewy ground, 

A mimic snow upon the breast of May. 

I feel your balmy health-bestowing pow'r, 
With ev'ry breeze successive pleasures rise, 
Bright curls the wave, clear spread the azure skies, 

And op'ning roses deck my tranquil bow'r. 

StilFd is the soul, wild passion hush'd to rest ; 
The regulated pulses gently move ; 
And blameless friendship, peace, andhallow'd love, 

Hold their bland empire in my quiet breast. 

Then, vernal gales, your sportive flight pursue, 

And reasons pow'rs, with nature's charms, renew. 



76 



MY DEAFNESS. 

A TRANSLATION FROM THE FRENCH^ 

Sent with the following Lines to a young Lady who 
was deaf. 

" Accept, dear girl ! the pleasing thought 
" That dwells in each translated line, 

" And know that hearts with feeling fraught 

" Can listen and respond to thine." 

Though, sad to say, I'm hard of hearing, 

*Tis consolation to have eyes, 
In which kind nature, ever cheering, 

Her language eloquently tries. 
When beauty, willing to approve, 

Yet shunning parent's looks austere. 
Says, with a single glance, " 1 love," 

O ! I can hear, yes, I can hear. 

When a conceited puppy prates, 

And proudly ev'ry ear demands 
To argument that nothing states, 

To systems no one understands,. 



77 

When, greeted by a giddy throng, 
He snuffs up flattery's incense there ; 

Then, if some Sage, should hold his tongue, 
The wise man's silence I can hear. 

When some lov'd friend of childhood's day, 

From tempests, battles and alarms, 
Returning, after long delay, 

Enfolds me fondly in his arms ; 
Beyond all words his looks to me 

Convey each feeling kind and dear :— 
How soft soe'er that language be, 

I hear, yes, perfectly I hear. 

If, dreading sorrow's vain appeals, 

Some wretch creep bye, with want opprest, 
When from his eye the tear-drop steals 

And falls upon his labouring breast, 
Vain is his silence : ev'ry sense 

Finds in his looks a meaning clear : 
Mov'd by their simple eloquence 

I hear, efficiently I hear. 

And you, whose bosom's gentle swell 
Pure sympathies steal kindly o'er, 

You, whom I comprehend so well, 
Forbear my portion to deplore ; 



78 

Content and peace are smiling round, 
Nor can you deem my lot severe ; 

For, though my ear admits no sound, 
My heart, thank heaven ! my heart can hear. 



TO A LADY, 

An intimate Friend of the Author, with a Fan 
painted to represent Insects. 

Go unambitious simple toy, 
And near Aspasia's breast employ 
Thy pow'r to give that bosom joy : 

Not by thy breezy fluttering vain, 
That like thy pictur'd insect train, 
Wanton in summer's gaudy reign ; 

But by that fond reminiscence 
That can delight and joy dispense, 
To friendship's more enlighten'd sense, 

And by the fervent wish that she 
May ev'ry hour more happy be, 
And most when she shall think of me. 



79 

POETICAL LETTER TO A FRIEND. 

Dear Sir, 

From my silence pray do not assert 
That my heart and my genius alike are inert ; 
Though the Muse might be sunk in a deep synco- 
pation, 
From friendship alone I could catch inspiration ! 
I hoped long ere this to have furnish'd conviction 
That such inspiration was far from a fiction 3 
By gaily, and speedily sending each valentine 
To catch some new light from the beams of your 

gallant eyne, 
But, collecting the fugitive verses, I wonder'd, 
To find that their number exceeded five hundred ! 
Not gifted like Mah'met with wing quill seraphical , 
I calFd for assistance on art typographical, 
Tho' often I feared from its tardy progression 
T hat int'reat might fade ere it gave an impression. 
These trifles I know you may very well flimsey call, 
Not skill'd like yourself in rhymes witty and whim- 
sical, 
Mirth springs in my heart as I ponder on them you 

late 
Sent, and I laugh, but presume not to emulate. 



80 

To an aglet or pin I'll my very best fan gage, 
That you fail not in rhyme for a word in our language ? 
But think not I'll lay in despondence myself bye, 
Or feel for your skill the base passion of envy, 
I'll rather exulting rejoice that my friend 
In rhyme and in reason my Muse shall transcend. 
This packet's protracted delay you in part to 
My wishes of sending a copy in quarto — 
Sixteen of my verses are chiefly vehicular 
But quartos convey them to friendships particular: 
Nor on their defects can I e'en with a blush look, 
When wafted to one so indulgent as R - : 

Ah ! blame not that rural employment we start in 
At Holy-wells rather than Trimley St. Martin. 
For setting aside what may well make our labour good, 
Inpreference due to the roads andthe neighbourhood, 
We know we have ev'ry convenience in store 
That Trimley can boast and a great many more, 
Not least that we more opportunities prove 
Of greeting the friends and connections we love I 
For them too we hope, in due time, to be able 
With poultry and fish to replenish our table, 
With perchand fat carp we six pounds have replete, 
While Orwell below bears her stores to our feet— 
And if either epicure, dainty or glutton 
Object to the flavour or size of our mutton, 



81 

Though we venison neither from forest or park get, 
Their taste we may please in our excellent market, 
For game too; — yet poachers will frequently take it 
But if we can't shoot it, we know how to make it. 
Though game so fictitious shall ne'er be supplied 
To us, but by vice, affectation, or pride. 
The views from our windows both fair and extensive 
Present pleasing pictures or chearful or pensive, 
And I scarcely know whether the sad or the merry 
Prevails when I fancy my ken leaches Bury. 
But to Holy-wells various the charms that belong, 
So, blythe be my verse as I sketch them in song. 
A snug old house bedecks the farm, 
The rooms though small and low are warm ; 
We add, 'tis but a patching trick, 
A plain white front of Woolpit brick, 
The unassuming view of which is 
Just " neither poverty nor riches." 
The Muse in quibble fairly sings 
Not here has wealth display'd its wings ; 
A road to drive up to the door, 
With shrubs and verdant plat before ; . 
While sloping from the hill are seen 
Rich pastures gay in em'rald green, 
And glitt'ring through the willow boughs, 
A smooth canal its surface shews, 



m 

In placid lustre seems to glide 
Contrasting Orwell's curling tide, 
Where stately vessels swell their sails, 
And lighter schallops woo the gales ; 
When days serener glories fade, 
And western hills grown brown in shade — 
Half hide the orb, whose parting fires 
Reflected gleam from vanes and spires, 
And doubtful on the distance blaze 
In ling'ring floods of golden haze. 
The wand'ring eye delights to trace 
Each spot in bright or shadowy grace ; 
The Chauntry's poplar tall whose high press 
Of spring branches mocks the cypress— 
Whitton's white House, and Akenham's farms ; 
With Bramford's undulating charms ; 
The pale lime smoke of chalky Claydon, 
Shrubland's dark groves of pine displayed on, 
Where picturesque performs its duty, 
And smiles at Bosmere's naked beauty ; 
While Stow though scarce discern'd in mist, a 
Termination gives the vista — 
Now let our scenes domestic claim, a 
Sketch, and turn the panorama : 
And here, the view at will adorning, 
We'll chuse our time a summer's morning; 



83 

The hay just loaded on the wain, 

The barn-yard strew'd with last year's groin. 

Where many a busy hen and chicken 

In motley groupes their food are pickings 

The fluttering doves on dove-cote billing, 

And kine the snowy milk pail filling. 

Now to the walks that bower'd in shade 

Winds gently down the woody glade, 

Where oaks their antic branches fling 

To guard the dell and sacred spring ; 

The morning beam aslant the hill 

Just glances on the sparkling rill, 

That gushes from the rocky cave, 

A shelly silver'd bed to lave, 

As limped and as pure of hue 

As radiant drops of summer dew, 

That, trembling from the alder spray 

Their tribute to the streamlet pay. 

Here science thoughtful, seeks to trace 

The changes mark'd on nature's face, 

And finds, in strange confusion hurl'd, 

The wonders of a former world ! 

Dense, conic, belemnitic stones, 

Sharks fossil teeth, and horses bones, 

And most abundant store of shells 

Invite research at Holy- wells. 
e 2 



84 

Oslrea-striata and vulgaris, 

With pecten nam'd opercular is, 

The same both maxima and various ; 

Murex antiquis and contrarius, 

With erinaceous., carinatus 

Caudatus, comeus, cancellatus 

And senticosus and costatus 

Emarginula ; fissurella, 

Calyptica balamus ; patella ; 

Voluta ; buccinum glabratum 

Minutum, and reticulatum, 

And serpula ; vermicularia ; 

Pinna, anomia ; rostellaria ; 

With turbo, trochus, and scalaria; 

Tellina ; mya-arenaria; 

Area, pentunculus ; and more 

That I could name to many a score ! 

But sure already some apology 

Is due for all this dull conchology, 

So leaving shells to grace the cabinet 

With damask curtain'd close, or tabinet, 

Of Holy-wells I'll only say, 

That be its beauties what they may, 
( By R 's presence they'll be heighten'd, 

And by his spouse's doubly brighten'd. — 
Thus long having ambled and rambled in verse, 
? Tis time my adieu's should be speedy and terse, 



85 

So curbing my Pegasus back from his folly tricks, 
Curvetting bye scandal, and leaping o'er politics, 
Dismounting, I'll wish that all blessing may dwell 
With you, and with yours, and just sign a fareweL, 
Your friend while there is a breath in 
Cobbold's Elizabeth, 

From Cliff decked with larch 

The twentieth of March, 

Eighteen-Hundred and Thirteen 

Be Britain alert in ! 



ON A POMPOUS INSIGNIFICANT MAN. 

Say, why does Sir Toby love parade ? 

Why make to pomp his vain pretence ? 
No man so needs each trivial aid, 
To raise him into consequence ! 



86 



THE MOSAIC PICTURE, 

Inscribed to Mrs. Craigie, of Glendoick, Perthshire, 
and written expressly as an Introduction to her 
Album, by her affectionate friend, E. C. 
June 2, 1817. 

Near a Cathedral Altar placed, 

Where mind alone the sketch had traced, 

The genius-gifted Artist stood, 

In inspiration's musing mood ; 

Before his thoughtful eye display'd 

A tablet thick with cement laid, 

And oft he turn'd to contemplate 

Rough bits of marble, stone and slate; 

Then, as his fitful fancy pleas'd, 

The fragments eagerly he seiz'd, 

Black, red, white, green, all strangely wedded, 

And in the cement deeply bedded. 

An honest Mason standing by, 
Had view'd the work with wondering eye, 
At length he spoke ; " Pray, sir, with favour, 
I humbly ask—this curious labour ? 



87 

u This mass of morsels, red, blue, green, 
" So oddly mix'd, what can it mean r* 
" This work is called Mosaic, friend, 
u And polishing, the scraps will blende 

" Aye, polishing — that's very true, 
But then a marble slab might do, 
And surely would be better gloss'd 
For less than half the pains and cost,'* 

" A marble slab, indeed ! — I see 
" You guess not what the work will be> 
"But hold ; — a month hence meet me here 
" And all its magic shall appear." 

The time arriv'd, the Mason's eyes 
Gaz'd on the tablet with surprise, 
A lovely picture fill'd its place, 
Complete in form and colours' grace, 
Where every charm of shade and light, 
Had so combin'd to cheat the sight, 
That touch and reason scarce can prove 
These figures do not breathe and move ! 

" Well," said the Artist, " friend, avow, 
" How do you like my labour now ?" 



88 

" Like it ? I'm lost in admiration ! 
" Is this the motley combination, 
" The mass of morsels ? sure 1 never 
ee Saw any painting half so clever, 
" Tis all creation's pow'r surprises 
"When order from confusion rises. 
" And with unmix'd delight I view 
" What art like nature's self can do, 
te Combining scraps to form a whole 
ct Replete with genius, taste, and soul." 

Thus in this volume you may find 
Materials somewhat oddly join'd ; 
Affection, with the Artist's skill 
Gives colour, grace, and form at will, 
And blends them all with such nice art, 
As touches both the eye and heart ; 
And stamps a value far more high 
Than gems or countless wealth can buy. 



89 



THE INVOCATION. 



Morning — River Scenery — The Glen — The Artist — 
The Fisherman— The Spell— The Yacht— Bays 
of Yore — Conclusion. 



The " Ancient Fisherman" whose character is pourtrayed in 
these Stanzas, it is not a mere creature of the imagination, but 
an eccentric Being, once resident in the parish of St. Clements, 
Ipswich, by name Thomas Colson, but better known by the 
appellation 0/ Robinson Crusoe. He was originally a wool- 
comber, and afterwards a weaver ; but a want of constant em- 
ployment in both these occupations induced him to enter into the 
East Suffolk Militia; and whilst quartered at Leicester, he learn- 
ed, with his usual ingenuity, the art of stocking.weaving, ichich 
trade he afterwards followed in this County. But this em- 
ployment, in its turn, he soon relinquished ; and became a Fisher- 
man on the river Orwell. His little vessel, (if vessel it might be 
called, for every part of it was his own handy work) presented a 
curious specimen of naval patchwork, as his extreme poverty did 
not afford him the means of procuring proper materials : yet in 
lids leaky and crazy vessel it was his constant custom by day and 
by night, in calms and in storms, to toil on the river for fish. Hi s 
figure was tall and thin ; his countenance meagre, yet striking ; 



90 



and his eye sharp and piercing. Subject to violent chronic com- 
plaints ; with a mind somewhat distempered, and faculties im- 
paired; Ine was a firm believer in the evil agency of wizards and 
ivitchcraft. On this subject indeed he was by no means uninform- 
ed ; and a frequent perusal of the" Dcemonology" of the British 
Solomon, K. James the I, operating on the gloomy and supersti- 
tious temper, soon confirmed his belief in these absurd opinions. 
He appeared also to have read " GlanviVs Saducismus Trium- 
phans" with considerable attention ; and while arguing on this 
his favorite topic, his quotations from this author were just and 
apposite. His mind ivas so liaunted with the dreams of charms 
and enchantments, as to fancy lie was continually under the influ- 
ence of these mischievious tormentors. His arms and legs, nay, 
almost his whole body, was encircled with the bones of horses, rings 
amulets, and characts, verses, words, $c. as spells and charms to 
protect him against their evil machinations. On different parts 
of his boat was to be seen the "horse shoe nailed," that most 
effective antidote against the power of ivitches. When conversing 
ivith Mm, he would describe to you that he saw them hovering 
about his person, and endeavoring, by all their arts, to punish and 
torment him. Though a wretched martyr to the fancies of a dis- 
ordered imagination, his manners were mild and harmless, and 
his cliaracter honest and irreproachable. But however powerful 
and effective his charms might be to protect him from the agency 
of evil spirits, tliey did not prove sufficiently operative against the 
dangers of storm and tempest. For being unfortunately driven 
ontheooze by a violent storm on the 3rd of October, 1811, he ivas 
seen and earnestly importuned to quit his crazy vessel ,• but, re- 
lying on the efficacy of his charms, he obstinately refused ; and 
the ebb of the tide drawing his bark off into deep water, his charms, 
his spells, and his characts failed him ; and poor Robinson sunk 
to rise no m&re ! 



91 

From rustic bow'r, by nature made, 
Beneath the linden's leafy shade, 
That crowns the cliff, -whose craggy side 
Ascends abrupt from Orwell's tide, 
Beneath whose slopes and cinuous steeps, 
The broad majestic river sweeps ; 
Where strays the eye delighted o'er 
The gently undulating shore, 
To scenes thy skill would aptly chuse, 
From rustic bow'r I call thee, Muse. 

Nor yet the bee to care alive, 

On sounding wing hath left his hive : 

The haunt of busier man is still ; 

The morn beam slants athwart the hill. 

Unconcious draws the blackbird nigh, 

Then starts, a stranger form to spy, 

And swift, with glossy wing di splay 'd, 

Flits fearful through the shrubby glade. 

Upon my verdant canopy 

All unexhal'd night's tear drops lie, 

Or gently shook, with soothing sound, 

In balmy dew-show'rs patter round. 

Those tall acacias gliding bye, 

The white sail steals upon my eye : 

And ever, as the loitering breeze 

Moves the light boughs, or waves the trees, 



92 

White cluster'd dwellings, scarcely seen, 
And tow'r, and turret, peep between ; 
And pennon'd mast, and gilded vane* 
A moment shewn, then hid again. 
All gaily in the morning ray, 
Like youth's fantastic visions play : 
While ev'ry graceful form I see, 
Inspires the wish to live with thee. 

Oft has thy voice in childhood's hour, 
Awoke me in the northern bow'r, 
And shall the lyre I tun'd to thee 
Hang silent on the southern tree ? 
Shall cares or pomps my heart controul, 
And chase thy pleasures from my soul ? 
No ; still thy voice shall soothe my ear ; 
Thy harp's wild descant still be dear ; 
Nor long wilt thou my claim refuse, 
When to my bow'r I call thee, Muse. 

Come, let us wander thro' the glade, 
Where willows throw, in lengthened shade, 
Their tangling arches o'er the rill, 
That steals its source from either hill, 
And gently winds its covert way, 
Scarce gleaming to the eye of day. 



93 

In sooth the wild sequester'd glen, 
Seems little trod by mortal men : 
Its lowly bow'rs of deep'ning green, 
So clos'd the woody heights between, 
So hid, so stilL form meet resort, 
For fays to hold their sylvan court: 
Yet here I've mark'd the Artist* stray, 
Here linger out the summer day, 
And with enthusiast pencil trace, 
Or storm or sunshine's varied grace : 
But chief when golden lights relieve 
The dark and giant shades of eve, 
He feels his soul to transport warm, 
And fixes ev'ry fleeting charm. 
And sure, in playful mood, 'tis thine, 
Dear Muse ! to guide his varying line, 
As breathe, in ev'ry form and tone, 
Strange feelings scarce to painting known ; 
Effects sublime, and graces free 
That speaks the soul of poesy ! 



* The banks cf this beautiful river were the frequent 
haunts of that admirable painter Gainsborough, while resi- 
dent at Ipswich ; and afforded ample scope for the exercise 
of his inimitable pencil. Mr. George Frost, a most Ingenious 
artist of Ipswich, and an ardent admirer of the productions 
of Gainsborough, and who deemed " it distinction enough to 
" catch the slightest of his perfections," is the personage 
alluded to in the above stanzas . 



94 

Come, rest upon the beetling cliff, 

And mark that little rocking skiff: 

Though measur'd true the oar's bright stroke, 

Its plank is pierc'd, its gunwale broke : 

Yet on it glides, and leaves behind 

Yon anchor'd bark, where, to the wind, 

Long trains of meshy folds display'd, 

Announce the Fisher's toilsome trade, 

And who is this that plies the oar, 

The skiff impelling to the shore, 

With squalid garments round him flung, 

And o'er his bending shoulders hung 

A string of perforated stones, 

With knots of elm and horses bones ? 

Say, Muse, may this a mortal be, 

Or shape fantastic drawn by thee ? 

And why his look so wild, so wan ? 

It is the ancient Fisherman, 

Who dreams that wizards, leagued with hell, 

Have o'er him cast their deadly spell. 

Tho* blanch'd his hair and bow'd his form, 

Yet still he toils, in sun and storm ; 

The boat he plies, the raft he steers, 

When swift the rapid whirlwind veers, 

When scarce the corvorant can sweep, 

The surface of the foaming deep. 



95 

Tho" pinching pain his limbs endure, 
He holds his life by charm secure, 
And while he feels the tort'ring ban, 
No wave can drown the spell-bound man. 
Can leeches hand, or sages skill, 
His pains assuage, his troubles still? 
The ills from fancy's pow'r we feel, 
"Tis fancy's pow'r alone can heal : 
Then, Muse, employ thy sweetest strain, 
To cure the ancient wand'rer's pain. 

THE SPELL. 

■ e{ O rest thee, rest thee, sailor bold, 
In lowly hut beneath the willow, 

Warm fire shall chase the Autumn's cold, 
And fragment woodruffe strew thy pillow. 

" I may not rest, I may not sleep, 
For spells my weary eyelids stain, 

Fierce fiends their watchiitgs by me keep. 
And call me to the roaring main. 

They shriek around, they ride the blast, 
Hang on my nets in vivid fires, 
And whirling in fantastic spires, 

Like smoky wreaths ascend the mast. 



96 

And ever as the midnight hour 
Their hate confirms, renews their pow'r ; 
Infernal forms my couch invest, 
Then, Lady, may I, can I rest ?" 

" O rest thee in the mossy cave, 

The falling rill shall soothe thy slumbers ; 
And sweetly to the murm'ring wave 

The wild harp breathe its magic numbers." 

" I may not sleep — with hellish pow'r 
The wizard works in secret bow'r ! 

I saw the wretch a mass prepare 
Of melted wax and dead men's dust ; 

From mould'ring sculls he scrap'd the hair, 
And worms from eyeless sockets thrust : 

Then shap'd the whole — distinct and true, 
I saw my very image rise ; 
My swelling brow, my sunken eyes, 

Too soon to dreadful likeness grew, 
And as the plastic form he prest, 

Some magic words he mutter'd o'er ; 
Then from a living swallow's breast, 

The reeking heart and liver tore : 
The bleeding spoil on either side 

Beneath the moulded arms he tied, 



97 

And from a cobweb eurtain'd nook^ 
The dark demoniac rite to swell, 

Some half burnt bones the wizard took, 
I shudder'd, for I knew them well. 

The bones of her who on the heath,* 

In flames resign'd her wicked breath ; 

Who train'd to lust and murder's lore, 

Her young and menial Paramour ; 

And urg'd and prais'd him while he crept, 

And slew her husband as he slept ! 

Then is not this a potent spell ? 

And is not this a charm of hell ?" 

" O thou hast dreamt an evil dream> 
And this is all the mind's confusion ; 

But peace and prayer with holy beam 
Shall soon dispel the dark illusion." 



* The persons here alluded to, were Margery Beddingfield 
and Richard Hinge, who were tried and convicted at the 
Assizes, holdenat Bury St. Edmund, March 24th, 1763, for 
Petty Treason and Murder committed on John Bedding- 
field, of Sternfield, near Saxmundham, farmer, the husband 
of the said Margery Beddingfield, and master of the said 
Richard Ringe. They were both executed at Rushmere 
Heath, on the 8th of April, pursuant to their sentence 
Ringe was about 22 years of age, and committed the murder 
at the instigation of his mistress, who was not 21. 



98 

a I do not dream, I cannot sleep, 

Incessant shrieks my ears assail ; 
In vain I pray, and watch, and weep, 
Nor pray'r, nor tears, will yet avail, 
Yet they shall break the spell at last, 
And, its appointed season past, 
That spell shall on the wizard tarn, 
And I shall cease to watch and mourn." 

" God rest thee, wand'rer, poor and old, 
And spread for thee a peaceful pillow ; 
And when to screen from winter's cold, 

Thou seek'st the hut beneath the willow, 
The Muse's voice thy mind shall lure, 
To find distemper'd fancy's cure ; 
And I will seek, with book and bell, 
To frame for thee an holier spell, 
Till then, poor wand'rer, fare thee well." 

Now tune the lyre to Lydian measure, 
For soften'd scene of festive pleasure. 
Light o'er the wave, with swelling sail, 
And streamers floating to the gale, 
The yacht, fantastic, gaily glides ; 
That wave reflects her painted sides : 
While, close behind, in schallop borne, 
The oboe, flute, and mellow horn, 



99 

The viol, and the clarion shrill, 

Bid echo's voice the chorus fill, 

And fair and gay, at music's call, 

Lead o'er the deck the mazy ball, 

As 'twere in bow'r or pompous halU 

Now shall we, Muse, in fancy float 

With revellers in pageant boat, 

And view with them each lovely scene, 

Of wooded hill, and valley green, 

Till Orwell water, broad and free, 

In mingling billows joins the sea ? 

Or shall we, on the pebbled shore 

Retrace the bolder scenes of yore, 

And tell what corses ridg'd the plain, 

When Angles chas'd th' invading Dane ? 

Or call to view the listed field, 

Where gleam the banner crest, and shield, 

Or by the merry greenwood side, 

With squire, and dame, and falc'ner ride, 

And mark how well the gyr-hawk, tried, 

Brings down the heron's tow'ring pride ? 

Or list the bugle's jocund sound, 

That cheers the deeper throated hound, 

Who tracks unfoil'd, his princely prey, 

And holds the antler'd stag at bay ? 

F 2 



100 

O Muse ! 'tis thine, with vivid sheen, 
To heighten ev'ry present scene, 
And shadow those with richer grace, 
That memory and fancy trace : 
Then oft, beneath the linden tree, 
In raptur'd visions visit me ; 
And ever let thy magic pow'r, 
With roses strew my rustic bow'r. 



SONNET TO LORD BYRON. 

Is it the sleep of death thy wayward mind 

Misnames the loveliest, since it dreams the least ? 
And can a soul like thine expect to find 

In death eternal sleep, and dreamless rest ? 
Ah ! probe tho' sharp the pang, thy erring breast, 

Thy talents give that sophist's saw the lie ; 
Thy feelings wildly tenderly exprest, 

Proclaim the heavenly flame that cannot die. 
Let reason leech the morbid thoughts that try 

To darken all the horrors of the tomb, 
And turn to realms of light thy wandering eye 
Where pure religion's sun-beams chace the gloom. 
So shall unclouded bliss to thee belong, 
Immortal too beyond thy own transcendant song. 



101 



WAFTED KISSES. 

Ah! hush'd be thy murmurs thou soft breathing gale 
And light be thy wing as it sweeps o'er the vale ; 
For know gentle Gale, on thy wing thou dost bear 
A kiss that my tenderness trusts to thy care. 

O ! yes, gentle Gale, thou wilt visit my love, 
Wilt meet his warm cheek as he strays thro' the grove., 
Then kindly convey the affectionate kiss, 
And whisper " Camilla partakes in the bliss." 

Should he sportively wish to return one to me, 
And waft, gentle Gale, the blest token by thee, 
Turn swiftly and speed to my cottage thy flight, 
And breathe on my lip the transporting delight. 

O then, gentle Zephyr, with me thou may'st stay. 
And round me, of love ever redolent play, 
My heart in thy sweetness, his sweetness shall prove, 
And feel in thy breath, the fond kiss of my love. 



102 



THE LODGE ; 

A Collage Scene from Nature, 

" Why from the hill does yonder mansion frown ? 

" Why on the Lodge look insolently down ? 

<c There all the charms that worldly treasures give, 

" The pleasures, and the pomps of riches, live ; 

e: The greenhouse ever fresh in vernal bloom, 

" Luxurious carriages, and pictured room, 

" W T ith harp, and dance, and song, their pow'rs employ 

" To wing each passing hour with varied joy : 

" While here, unheeded, in this wretched hold, 

" Pale poverty sits trembling, sad and cold ; 

ec Here patient labour droops his sickly head, 

( ' And hears his ragged children cry for bread : 

<{ Shame that thew r ages squeez'dfrom splendor's store 

<l Are so inadequate to feed the poor, 

" That they, to equal rights and freedom, born, 

" Are bow'd by want and paralyz'd by scorn ! " 

So spake the man of thought acerb, whose mind 
With sourness taints each lot of human kind ; 



103 

But ye of gentle souls, who kindly feel 
The bliss ye pray for, o'er your bosoms steals 
Who meekly worship, ye can understand 
That weal and woe are dealt with equal hand;, 
And how, of every state, the varied plan 
Best " vindicates the ways of God to man." 
I will not say what joys yon mansion grace, 
Or what the sorrows which those joys efface ; 
Enough if temper'd taste its bliss increase, 
Or resignation lull its griefs to peace. 

But I will paint the Lodge which late I saw, 

And truth's clear pencil shall the outline draw ; 

No glaring colours shall the scene pervade, 

Fair in its simple mass of light and shade ; 

A white- wash'd cottage, lowly, small, and plain,, 

With light slate roof secur'd from storms and rain 

Here dwell, content, a frugal honest pair, 

Six smiling children here their pittance share : 

Their only boy, inur'd to labour, now 

Tends with his sire the harrows or the plough ; 

The first-born hope a daughter just fourteen, 

Oft at her mother's side afield is seen : 

Swift as the dibble strikes the furrows, these 

Or plant the wheat, or careful drop the pease 5 

Or as the seasons' rustic toils succeed, 

The gardens and the young plantations weed. 



104 

While thus the elder, on employment bent, 

Abroad are busy, cheerful, and content, 

The little Lydia, o'er whose cheek and brow 

Nine summers scarce have spread their russet glow, 

Governs the household, plies the mop and pail, 

Sets all in order, and prepares the kale, 

Three younger sisters with discretion leads, 

One sews, another knits, or either reads, 

Clean pebbles from the brook the babe employ, 

Amused, to each in turn itself a toy, 

And womanhood with blushes might behold 

How Lydia keeps the house at nine years old ! 

But this the mother's early care had taught, 

That comfort must with industry be bought. 

His garden ground at eve the good man tills, 
Each nook with pleasure and with profit fills ; 
Gives the close juicy cabbage here to shoot, 
And plants potatoe's farinaceous root ; 
The hurdled fence is gay with China's rose, 
While cordial marigold beneath it blows, 
Round hedge-row trees the scarlet runners twine, 
And promise feasts where blossoms gaily shine. 

When chiming bells proclaim God's holy rest, 
The young ones, all in treasured garments drest, 



105 

With kindly order hand in hand repair 
To church, and bow in simple duty there, 
Then pleas'd return the sabbath meal to share. 

Long may contented labour's honest smile 

Greet this endear'd repose from weekly toil : 

When age shall wear the parents' strength away, 

O ! ever, on that consecrated day, 

May grateful children to their cot repair, 

Bring the kind gift, and smoothe the brow of care ; 

And filial love gild life's declining ray, 

With heaven's bright promise of eternal day. 



106~ 



ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF 

MRS. K 's FAVORITE NIGHTINGALE, 

When langour late, with icy chain, 
Confin'd the charms of Myra's strain. 
Her Nightingale, with artless pride, 
A melody responsive tried, 
And breath'd his song in tender tone* 
Subdu*d and soften'd like her own ; 
But when Hygeia brought the hour 
That gave her voice its pristine pow'r, 
When to her favorite lyre she sung> 
And rapture on her accents hung, 
To catch her clear expressive note 
Her darling swelFd his little throat, 
Like Strada's fabled bird. — How vain 
The task to emulate that strain ! 
He felt his hour of triumph o'er, 
And, dreading now to charm no more, 
On Myra's lip a kiss he prest, 
A farewell flutter'd on her breast, 
Collected all his fleeting breath 
For one sad note, then sunk in death. 



107 



ADDRESS TO THE CARMELITE, 

As performed at Colchester by the Officers of the 
Eastern District. For the benefit of the Patriotic 
Fund, 1804. 

Thanks for the kind indulgence, which to-night, 
Has cheer'd our military Carmelite, 
Nor are the beaming eye, the fav'ring hand, 
That hail'd a Hero from the holy land, 
On tales of ancient days bestow'd alone, 
You lately welcomed heroes of your own- 
How throng'd exulting crouds at glory's call, 
To greet the champions, who from Acre's wall 
Bade England's thunders roar, her light'nings play, 
And check'd the tyger panting for his prey. 
What transport throbb'd in ev'ry heart to prove 
A nation's gratitude, a nation's love, 
When, resting from a day of glorious toil, 
The British lion bath'd him in the Nile .' 
Again the despot of unsettled France, 
Rears his bold crest, and shakes his gory lance, 
Nay, dares to threaten with a host of slaves, 
Our native bulwarks, liberty and waves. 



108 

Yes, let them venture, our presumptive foes 
In death shall fraternise with kites and crows, 
Nor other land in Britain shall possess, 
Than just the spot their bleeding bodies press ! 
But should their hostile step, or British gore 
By Frenchmen shed, pollute this sacred shore, 
So wild the cry of vengence would arise, 
Shake our white cliffs, andpierce our clouded skies 
That pity, frightened, scarce would dare to save,. 
Till gallic blood stain'd all the circling wave ! 
Avert it heaven ! for, if above the rest, 
One virtue lords it in the Briton's breast, 
'Tis gen'rous pity — hark ! with plaintive tone 
She speaks a widow's grief, an orphan's moan f 
To her kind purposes with pure delight, 
We consecrate our efforts of to-night, 
And if our merits claim not your applause, 
It bursts spontaneous on the sacred cause, 
The cause of those who wield Britannia's spear, 
Who, arm'd for all to love and freedom dear, 
Their heart's best blood, a willing off'ring bring, 
To save their laws, their country, and their king I 



109 



THREE SONNETS. MORNING. 

As from the glowing East upsprings the beam 

The clear blue arch with warmth and light to fill, 
Rock, grove, and tow'r, reflected from the stream 
Shew Earth's fair pictures touch'd with heav'nly skill ; 
RolTd, thin and fleecy, o'er the western hill, 

The yielding mist in radiance melts away : 
The dew-drops on the leaf hang bright and still, 

So soft the zephyrs through the foliage play ! 
In Youth thus upward darts the mental ray ; 

The clear ideas so defin'd evolve, 
And, gradual fading from the growing day, 

The tender mists of Infancy dissolve. 
So pure the feelings of a Dawn like this, 
That ev'n its sorrows seem allied to bliss. 

NOON. 

The summer sun, in" proud meridian height, 

Gives Nature's features, strong, distinct, and clear, 

And insect myriads, in his fervid light, 
On glittering wing pursue their gay career. 



110 

Now ardent rays, from river , fen and mere> 
The steamy vapours viewlessly exhale ; 

But soon low congregating clouds appear, 
And round the still horizon slowly sail. 
The thunder rolls; — cool breathes th' electric gale;— 

From lowering darkness, with convulsive jar, 
Bursts the near flash, and through the frighted vale 

Spreads loud and wild the elemental war. 
Yet far more wild, rage pride, ambition, strife, 
When passion's storms convulse the Noon of life ! 

EVENING. 

I mark'd the westward orb's departing blaze, 
While spires and turrets, magnified and bright, 

As o'er the valley pour'd the purple haze, 
Seem'd floating glorious on a sea of light : 
But as I gazed the vision vanish'd quite ; 

Swift faded all the splendors of the scene ; 
And yet, methought, reluctantly the night 

Veil'd the fair landscape in her shroud serene, 

Ah ! transient as that purple light, I ween, 
The golden dreams of genius or of fame, 

That oft, in meteor brightness, intervene 

To gild life's evening clouds with lambent flame. 

But memory and affection yet may give 

The magic touch that bids the Picture live. 



Ill 



THE ROSES OF AUTUMN. 



InMay through my garden the rosebuds were blowings 
In June and July how they courted the sun ! 

In Augusttheir beauties still brightly were glowing :— 
Alas ! in September the roses were gone ! 

The rain and the hail o'er the hedgerows were beating, 
Cold winter's repose on the plain to confer ; 

The frosts of the season, impetuous, though fleeting, 
Had scath'd all the charms of the gaudy parterre. 

And scarcely the Aster, so placid and sober 

To Autumn reluctantly offer'd its duty : 
When lo ! mid the rigors and frowns of October, 
One rose-bush still blossom'd in sweetnessand beauty. 

O ! how my heart bounded to welcome the flower, 
That frosts could not wither, or tempests deform ; 

Like friendship that smiles on adversity's hour, 
Resisting the ice-bolt, and braving the storm ! 



112 

Dear Helen ! the roses of life's lovely morning 
Now rest on thy lips, in thy blushes now glow^ 

And long may those roses, thy summer adorning, 
In splendor unfading transcendantly blow. 

But the graces that dwell in thy mind and thy heart* 
By virtue still cherish'd by seasons improv'd, 

Shall live when the blossoms of beauty depart, 
And like roses in Autumn, be cherish'd and lov'd. 



IMPROMPTU. 

On the fall of a portion of the Gallon Hill near Edin~ 
burgh, by which theMonument erected to the Memory 
of Lord Nelson was overthrown, and his Profile 
formed in the Rock. 

Art on this spot, with haughty claim 
A column raised to Nelson's name, 
But Nature, smiling with disdain 
To prove th' attempt of Art how vain, 
O'erthrew the bauble with a shock, 
And stamp'd his image on the Rock ! 



113 



SONNET 

Written in an accomplished young Lady's Souvenir, 
and accompanied by a painting of King-Jishers. 

Ere quits the yellow leaf the bending spray, 

And wintry blasts earth's verdant lap deform, 
Sev'n tranquil days the winds suspend their sway, 

And for Alceyone restrain the storm. 
On one of these, when summer linger'd still 

To cheer November with a parting smile, 
I mark'd Maria's unaffected skill, 

With lute or pencil night's approach beguile : 
While elegance of form and sense, combin'd 

With modest worth, simplicity and taste, 
Bade the warm line express the feeling mind, 

This fervent wish on memory's page I trac'd : — - 
Her heart's approof be still her dearest praise, 
And all Maria's life be form'd of halcyon days. 



114 



SENSIBILITY, 
A Moral Story for Young Ladies. 

A rosebud, overcharg'd with dew, 

Its with'ring head reclin'd, 
Half broken from its parent bough, 

The sport of ev'ry wind. 

Maria, to her fav'rite bow'r, 

Romantic Ella led : 
With tears she rais'd the drooping flow'r, 

And tied its bending head. 

"Ah live," she cried, " my lovely rose ! 

And let your charms expand, 
Free to the gale your sweets disclose, 

Nor dread the spoiler's hand." 

As through the grove, at close of day, 

Maria lonely stray'd, 
A weeping female cross'd the way, 

And thus implor'd her aid ; 



115 

<c In pity Iiear a (laughter's pray'r ; 

In pity haste to save : 
My father bow'd with want and care, 

Is sinking to the grave." 

" Content within a little cot 
That decks yon humble vale, 

The chearful song that blest our lot 
Was borne on ev'ry gale." 

" Till sickness, hov'ring o'er our home, 

Its baleful influence spread, 
Snatch'd one dear parent to the tomb, 

And bent the other's head." 

" Want, pain, and care would I endure, 
Would deem privation wealth, 

Could all my patient toil procure, 
That bliss, a parent's health !" 

" While still no convalescent smiles 

My feeble efforts pay, 
A wealthy suitor's ceaseless wiles 

Are practis'd to betray." 

" Heav'n knows my pure unspotted fame, 

Yet more than life I prize : 
Nor will I earn the bread of shame; 
No ; — though a parent dies !" 



116 

" Then gracious hear a daughter's pray'r 

If you delay to save, 
My father, bow'd with pain and care. 

Must sink into the grave " 

In vain complaint, in vain distress, 

Assail'd Maria's ear : 
Nor could her hand the grief redress, 

Her heart refused to hear. 

But not in vain the mourner's care, 

Nor vain the tear she shed ; 
A gen'rous rustic heard her pray'r, 

And to the cottage sped ; 

And, as the bounteous dole he gave, 

Benevolently smil'd, 
Rejoic'd, from sorrow's grasp to save 

The father and the child. 

Shame on those hearts that never felt 

A fellow- creature's woes; 
Yet tenderly affect to melt 

In pity for a Rose ! 






117 



LINES 

Written in the Album of an Officer of the Kings 
German Legion ; with a view of the Cliff, the 
Residence of the Author. 

While mem'ry turns the treasur'd pages o'er, 

Here shall she trace the Cliff's emerging side, 
Where, rising from the Orwell's pebbled shore, 

A simple dwelling overhangs the tide ; 

Close to its walls the lesser schallops glide, 
And few the sparkling waves that intervene, 

Where taller ships of busy commerce ride, 
And spires, and turrets crown the distant scene. 
Beneath its poplar shades, and lindens green, 

Shall hospitality her bliss impart, 
And ever by its wintery hearth be seen 

The smile urbane that cheers the stranger's heart. 

Secure from satire's shaft, or envy's dart, 
Here may his heart forget its every woe, 

With social converse heal afflictions' smart, 
And all the sweets of home and friendship know, 
Till peace with ray serene the world shall cheer, 
And gild his native land and give a home more dear. 



118 



LINES 

Written in an Autumnal Evening, 

Slow rolls the tide advancing on the shore, 
The gliding bark expands its swelling sail, 

Soft sounds the gentle dashing of the oar 
That aids the impulse of the dying gale. 

Behind yon western hill the sun retires 
Half veil'd in mists the glories of his head, 

While scatter'd clouds reflect his parting fires, 
And tint the azure flood with streaks of red. 

The wide-spread landscape smiles in varied hues, 
Mellow'd and blended by autumnal skies, 

Presenting all around delightful views 
To cheer the heart, and gratify the eyes. 

Happy the man whom smiles may still surround, 
Who gaily can th' approach of age perceive, 

Whose waning hours by cheerfulness are crown'd 
Serene and bright as this Autumnal Eve. 



119 



LOVE'S PROGRESS,~a song. 
From the French. 

Infant love a harmless child, 

Brush'd, with playful feet, the dew, 
Round him nature's beauty smil'd 

Ere his purple pinions grew. 

Soon the boy's persuasive tongue 
Soft complaints began to utter ; 

Fond on Psyche's breast he hung, 
Tried his op'ning wings to flutter. 

Having taught the gentle maid, 

Love with ardour to repay, 
Quick, with changing plumes display'd, 

Love took wing and flew away. 



120 



LUCY, A SKETCH FROM NATURE. 

Approv'd by the wise and ador'd by the gay. 

Was Lucy for beauty and talent admir'd ; 
As sported her steps in prosperity's ray, 

Each glance spoke the rapture her presence inspired 
So soft, and so meek, were the beams of her eye, 

So winning her manners, so spotless her mind, 
The arrows of satire flew harmlessly bye, 

And envy grew gentle, and rivalry kind. 
What graces colud Lucy's attractions improve ? 
What render her dearer to friendship and love ? 

Adversity rose, how terrific her form ! 

No breast unrepining submits to her doom ; 
She came like the gathering cloud of the storm, 

And shrouded the maid in her withering gloom. 
Did she sully with tear-drops those eyelids so meek, 

Her smile's playful magic in terror control ? [_ cheek, 
Did she blight the young roses that bloom'd on her 

Untune the sweet voice that was melody's soul, 
And far from the hopes of her victim remove, 
The counsels of friendship, the soothings of love ? 



121 

Adversity bore not a purpose so fell ; 

She spar'd the pure blush, and the graces refin'd, 
Destroy'd the illusions of flattery's spell, 

And gave her for wealth, the resources of mind, 
Those blessings exhaustless she fondly enjoys, 

Which kindred affection binds close to the heart, 
Each cherish'd accomplishment nobly employs 

To guard a lov'd parent from poverty's dart, 
And learns, in adversity's school, to discover 
The worth of the friend, and the truth of the lover. 

Yes, Lucy, sweet Lucy ! thy feminine grace 

To fairer perfection expands in the shade ; 
New charms of the person and manner we trace, 

In shadow by pity's soft pencil pourtray'd. 
In duty's straight path undismay'd persevere, 

Each mental improvement with ardor pursue, 
The storms of affliction with fortitude bear, 

To tenderness, honor, and sentiment true ; 
Thy beauty, thy talents, thy virtues, shall prove 
Progressively dearer to friendship and love. 



122 



LINES 

Written in the first leaf of Miss Collins" s Album* 

How aptly may this volume shew 
The treasures of its owner's breast :— 

Mark, in its leaves, like spotless snow, 
Her purity of soul exprest. 

Upon those leaves the pencil traces, 
In tender colours, forms refin'd, 

As education gives the graces 
To ornament her cultured mind. 

Here friendship's cherish'd recollections, 
Kind wishes, sacred thoughts impart : 

So virtuous feelings, blest affections 
Are cherished in Eliza's heart 



123 



THE TWO VANITIES,— a fable. 

When Cadmus, reeking from th' empoison'd strife, 

The serpent spoils by Pallas' order strew'd, 
The gory furrows heav'd with sudden life, 

And, bursting forth, appear'd the warrior brood ; 
Awhile elate in hostile pride they stood : 

Then mix'd in fierce exterminating fight, 
Earth's bosom drenching with her children's blood, 

And every corse defac'd with hellish spite, 
Pale look'd the sun through clouds, and sicken'd at 
the sight. 

Till, from Olympus sent with high behest, 

A subtle spirit hover'd o'er the plain, 
Each pale survivor suasively addrest, 

Quench 'd anger's flame, lull'd hatred's raging pain. 
With tones more dulcet far than music's strain 

The wild conflicting passions could he move: 
Ne fail'd he thence in erring hearts to reign, 

The great vicegerent of commanding Jove, 
By men yclep'd desert, but styl'd in heav'n self-love. 



124 

With boasted title and deceitful smile, 

He wooed and won bright honor for his bride : 
But wanton flatt'ry courting him the while, 

With harlot blandishments incessant plied, 
To lure him from his faithful lady tried r 

Nor w r ould that chaste and gentle bride complain, 
But in her secret bow'r neglected sigh'd. 

While folly bound him in a gilded chain 
And shew'd him to the world, of wicked conquest vain. 

That worthless Leman, and that lady true, 

Each to self-love a smiling daughter bore, 
So with his image stampt, that scarce he knew 

Which of his features, justest semblance wore: 
Ne hardly might the sages pensive lore 

Decide of outward form the doubtful claim : 
The parent fondty paus'd his offspring o'er, 

In fancy crowning each with deathless fame, 
While both alike he bight, and Vanity the name. 

These, as they grew in stature and in years, 
In countenance assum'd each other's guise : 

Though little likeness in the mind appears, 
For folly's child still reck'd of idle toys, 

But honor's led to deeds of high emprize : 
Oft would their sire her holy influence own 

And gifts for merit's shrine with her devise ; 



125 

She taught him how to win and wear renown, 
And wreath'd his earthly name with glory's brightest 
crown. 

Oft too with her heroic virtues dwell. 

High courage, fortitude, and patriot zeal : 
E'en charity would grace her fairy cell, 

And teach her heart in sympathy to feel, 
Till her fond father half his thoughts would steal 

From his own cherish'd looks, and joy to trace 
Those charms not Folly's wiles could long conceal, 

Her mother's dignity, her mother's grace, 
Then vow to fly no more from Honor's chaste embrace. 

But Folly's daughter idly round him hung 

With fulsome praise, light love, and gaudy joy, 
Like ivy to the falling structure clung, 

To deck pretending, fated to destroy : 
But where the flatt'ry that self-love can cloy ? 

This giddy Vanity has rudely torn 
Each good resolve, and ev'ry sacred tie : 

Then wisdom teach my heart to know and scorn 
The dangerous Vanity of Folly basely born. 

Nathless, the Muse's venturous skiff is still 

By one or other Vanity impell'd : 
Then prove we, by the pilot's steady skill, 



126 

That Honor's child the helm's true guidance held, 
Each sails' uncertain flutt'ring gently quell'd, 

And with the gales best Vantage safely veer'd. 
Ye who secure on shore our course beheld, 

Say, has our little bark been wisely steer'd 
And prospers well its freight by your approval cheer 'd ? 

TRANSLATION. 

Song of the Bird in the Gardens of Armida. 
Tasso. V. Canto 16. Gul. Lib. 
Behold ! (he sang) the tender op'nmg rose 

In modest youth, and virgin blush array'd, 
Whose folding leaves half hide, and half disclose 

Those charms most lovely still, when least display 'd: 
Now bolder grown, she bares her glowing breast, 

Then quickly fades, alas ! no more the same, 
No more the same, that late with beauty blest 

Each eye ador'd, each heart was proud to claim. 

Thus passes, in the passing of a day, 

Of human life the freshness, and the flow'r— 
To this, no spring returns with gladsome ray, 

To wake the buds or renovate the bow'r. 
Gather the rose, while yet the morning shines, 

The clearest skies at eve may clouded prove ; 
Gather the rose of love, while love inclines 

To bless us with the dear return of love. 



W 



LINES 

On reading Dr. Smith's* description of the Temple 
of Modern Philosophy ,': in the Isle of Poplars, 
near Ermenonville. 

Quis hanc perficiet ? Glorious space ! 
Who shall the rising column grace ? 
Who crown the honors of the dome 
Beneath these poplar's hallow'd gloom ? 



» Sir James Edward Smith, M. D. F. 11. S. and 'President 
of the Linnsean Society. This able naturalist is a native 
of Norwich where he at present resides;~As a Botanist he 
stands pre-eminent, and has made several considerable dis- 
coveries in that pleasing science. The Linnsean Society is 
chiefly indebted to him for its establishment, and its trans- 
actions are enriched by numerous papers of importance from 
his pen. Separately, Dr. Smith has published a great num- 
ber of very valuable Botanical and other interesting works. 

■f- This is an unfinished building very happily imagined. 
Each of the eight pillars already erected, is marked with 
some distinguished name, attended with a characteristic 
word, thus : Bousseau, naturam ; Voltaire, ridiculum ; Frank- 
lin, fulmen ; Priestley, aerem ; Newton, lucem ; Des Cartes, 
nil in rebus inane. On an unfinished pillar is engraved 
" Quis hanc perficiet ?" 

Smith's Sketch of a Tour on the Continent in the years 1780 
and 1787, in 3 vols. Vol. 1st. p. 101. 



128 

He, who to truth and nature dear, 
Guards the pure mind, from envy clear; 
Who, grac'd with learning's laurel crown, 
Loves virtue better than renown. 
No party courts, asserts no claim, 
And gives to friendship more than fame ; 
Who ne'er assumes the gaudy glare 
Of words, to make the vulgar stare, 
Or points keen satire's poison'd dart 
At mild devotion's helpless heart, 
But soars above the sceptic's pride, 
And makes religion learning's guide, 
While manly sense, with taste refin'd 
Beams from the unaffected mind : 
And they to whom indulgent heav'n 
His friendship and esteem has given, 
Exclaim, " Here truth, record his name, 
" And give th 5 unfinish'd space to fame." 



129 



INSCRIPTION 

For the Book of Memory and Friendship, 

O sweet and sacred be her pleasures, 
While Mary- Anne the page reviews 

Where memory guards some valued treasures, 
From love, from friendship, and the Muse ! 

Here shall the pencil's bright delusion 
Fair scenes of childhood's pleasures store, 

While sketching nature's wild profusion 
That decks her Orwell's cherish'd shore. 

Or shadowing forth the vivid flowers, 

Shall give to each as rich a hue 
As when, to grace her natal bowers, 

Beneath the fostering hand they grew. 

Or when its playful skill disposes 
Some emblem, gracefully exprest, 

Shall paint young love, from beds of roses, 
Sprung to her dearer, softer breast. 



130 

Here too, the gentle hand maternal 

Some thought, some wish of love shall trace, 
And wake a gleam of joy supernal 

The daughter's beaming eye to grace. 

To this his sense of added blessing 
The grateful spouse shall oft confide, 

With each revolving year confessing 
The wife still dearer than the bride ! 

Here first its trembling skill essaying, 
The infant hand shall mark its bliss, 

A rich reward its toil repaying, 

The father's praise, the mother's kiss. 

Here friendship speaks its tried affection, 
And dwells upon the darling theme ; 

And warm and tender recollection 
Here guards the blossoms of esteem. 

And may each happy predilection, 
That youth and worth for me began, 

Expanding into full perfection 
Live in the heart of Mary- Anne. 



131 



TO LADY CULLUM, 

Beneath the oak's wide stretching canopy 

I shun the splendors of the noon-tide sky ; 

A grove below o'er-shades the sloping hill, 

And the dark alders hide the murmuring rill i 

Beyond where once the Bishop's palace rose, 

The orchard in its youthful promise glows, 

For yet the trees scarce shade the altered scene, 

And lucern spreads beneath its vivid green, 

Th' opposing slope with waving corn is crown'd, 

One low white cottage decks the rising ground ; 

And, on the summit of the eastern hill, 

Thro' leafy branches peeps the moving mill, 

Far to the north in misty distance— spreads 

A long extent of checquer'd woods and meads.— 

In gleams of golden sun-shine now arrayed, 

Now in the softer clouds' quick passing shade ; 

In stronger shadow interpos'd between 

Are sloping roofs, towers, and turrets seen ; 

With gilded vanes that glitter as they twirl, 

And pale blue smoke wreaths, mounting as they curl, 

While Holy- wells, the dear domestic nest 

Spreads its white bosom to the gentle west. 
ji % 



132 

The lark that lately heralded the spring, 
Beats to his rapid trill his quivering wing, 
The cuckoo still deceives the listening ear, 
Receding now, now idly flitting near. 
The thrush in simple song of clearest note, 
With tender sweetness swells her speckled throat, 
And in yon tufted thorn that decks the vale, 
I hear the love-call of the nightingale. 
Gurgles the brook — the concert zephyr swells 
With soften'd cadence of the tuneful bells. 

O ! sad for those who know no sense of sound, 
When nature's harmonies are breathing round, 
Who in the social converse ne'er rejoice, 
Nor hear the touching tones of human voice ; 
As in their varied melody they roll, 
When blest affection speaks from soul to soul. 

And I can guess the pangs that these must feel, 
O'er whose dimm'd vision clouds of blindness steal. 
Who mark each weak'ning of the visual ray, 
Who mourn fair nature's premature decay, 
And find each landscape late w r ith beauty crown'd, 
In helpless, hopeless darkness closing round ! 

So in despondence droop'd the mournful head 

Of those in whom sound's thrilling power was dead. 



133 

And such despair hung o'er the perish'd sight, 

Of all that fail'd ere rose the gospel light. — 

But when the sacred " Ephphatha" was given, 

The clos'd ear open'd to the voice of heav'n, 

When our meek Saviour to th' imploring blind, 

Gave back the light, the body and the mind — 

Own'd at one touch the vivifying ray, 

And sprang rejoicing to unclouded day ! — . 

Then, when his task acomplish'd, he arose 

In glory o'er the vale of human woes, 

Did hope forsake the deaf? and might no more 

A touch miraculous the blind restore ? 

Not so— the promis'd comforter from heav'n, 

To human skill the " Ephphatha" has giv'n— 

The leeches' hand the holy spirit guides, 

And gracious o'er the healing art presides.- 

The miracle, perhaps to human view 

Less manifest, but no less kind and true.— 

What felt my Cullum, when the veil of night 
Seem'd drawn for ever o'er the orbs of sight ? 
Strong was her mental vision, bright and clear, 

Nor mist, nor cloud, nor darkness brooded there 

Serene and cheerful, still 'twas her's to prove 
The power of trusting faith and holy love : 
The " Ephphatha" was plac'd by heaven's high will 
On the nice instrument and nicer skill, 



134 

Its scientific touch restor'd the ray, 

And all the glorious wonders of the day.— 

Joy to my Cullum, in this blessing found ! 
For her again the landscape smiles around, 
For her in all its pride the garden glows, 
In all its beauty blushes summer's rose ; 
She treads in bliss the path she long has trod, 
And, * ' looks thro' nature up to nature's God.' 



EXTEMPORE. 

To C. F. W. who asked the Author, why she painted 
his Portrait so handsome ? / 

You ask, why loveliness and grace 

Are in this form combin'd ? 
I strove to picture in the face 

The beauties of the mind. 



135 



HYMN TO THE COMET. 

September 6fk, 1811. 

Strange light ! that on the brow of eve 
With cloudy radiance stream'st afar, 

Can mortal eye thy track perceive ? 
Immeasurable star ! 

Thy orb excentrie, ranging wide, 
Does some gigantic spirit guide, 

And sailing slow on viewless wing. 
Loose, to the midnight air, 
His flowing folds of meteor hair, 
With steady and appalling glare, 

Through darken'd aether fling ? 

Pale superstition eyes, aghast, 
Thy flame, portentous huiTd, 

And shakes at every rising blast, 
And feels a trembling world : 

Or sees thee frown on fields of blood, 

And starts at slaughter's crimson flood : 



136 

Or, gleaming in thy lurid train, 

Marks war's wild rage, and restless pain, 

Views pestilence ride sweeping bye ; 

Meets famine's gaunt and ruthless eye ; 

With thousand nameless evils, dimly shewn, 

And climes laid desolate and empires overthrown 

Thy light the tyrant's soul shall scare ; 

And, shuddering, he shall read his doom, 
An awful sentence, written there. 

In dark recess or cavern's gloom, 
He shrouds in vain his guilty head; 

The wildest terrors of the tomb, 
The spectres of the murdered dead, 
Shall flit around his fever'd bed, 
And conscience, through the night, shall shine, 
With light more baleful far than thine : 

And demon fangs his soul shall tear, 
Till horror bursts his straining eyes, 
Till groans are music to his cries, 

And death, in vain implor'd, derides his fix'd despair. 
O, wondrous star ! thy course uneven 

The Christian marks with fearless mien, 
Pursuing, through the arch of heav'n, 

Thy blazing path with eye serene; 
And in thy atmosphere so bright, 
Traces the source of life and light, 



137 

Impelling, with resistless force, 

Thy orbit, and the tyrant's course, 
Convinc'd, that though conjecture fail 

The purposes of each to scan, 
And though the sight of erring man 
Be feeble, and his judgment frail, 
Omnipotence to understand ; 

The fury of the man of blood, 
Rais'd by the Almighty's great command, 
The Comet wielded by his hand, 

Are works of power, and implements of good : 
But, marking, with reflective eye, 
Earth's awful scourges lifted high, 
Or tracing in the illumin'd sky, 

The glorious course the planets run, 
The man of pure and pious mind, 
In pleasure meek, in grief resign'd, 
Rests on his heavenly father's care, 
And softly breathes the Christian pray'r, 
'* O God, thy will be done." 



138 



DIRGE 

To the Memory of our too early lost, and ever lamented 
Princess, Charlotte Augusta. 

O ! best belov'd ! to kindred skies 
Too early from our wishes fled ; 

For thee we breathe, with lengthened sighs, 
The sounds that mourn the sainted dead. 

No flow'rs in vernal bloom array'd, 
To grace thy shrine, affection gives ; 

Too soon the votive chaplets fade, 
Where thy endear'd remembrance lives. 

More truly to thy worth allied, 

The grief each feeling bosom bears, 

A nation's hope, a nation's pride, 
Embalming with a nation's tears. 

E'en now, like heaven's refreshing dew, 
On British hearts descends the tear, 

For there thy graces spring anew, 
To ripen fruits of virtue there. 



139 



LINES 

Written on a View of the Seti. 

Ah flatt'ring expanse ! gently curl'd 
By fickle Autumn's faithless gales : 

With joy the sailor views unfurFd 
His pendant gay, his swelling sails : 

Swift o'er thy waves, led on by hope, he rides, 

Fearless of adverse winds or overwhelming tides* 

Ah flatt'ring expanse ! how serenely gay 
While glitt'ring sunbeams on thy bosom play t 

The rising mast, the spreading coast 

In distant vapour almost lost, 

While wide around the scene is thrown 

The blue horizon's circling zone, 
Where fancy's cloudy landscapes deck the sky, 
And evening's shadows mock the gazing eye. 

Ah flatt'ring expanse ! soon the storm 
Shall all thy transient charms deform ; 
Too soon the whirling winds shall rise, 
And lift thy billows to the skies. 



140 

Ah me ! behold yon laboring bark ; 

In vain her gallant inmates mourn 

Her broken masts, her rudder torn : 
Full on a rock she drives, and hark ! 

They call on heav'n with wild affright I 
Grim horror from her cliff exultant springs, 
Claps o'er the deep her deadly sounding wings. 

And flitting sea gulls scream their funeral rite. 

Ah flatt'ring expanse! on thy shore 

The widow'd fair will often stray, 
And sigh to hear thy waters roar ; 

Oft with an anxious eye survey 
Thy verge, in hopes each mist may prove 
The white sail of her long expected love : 

Then from the fear-inspiring deep 

Shall turn her troubled eye and weep, 

Ah ! long may tenderness repress 

The tale of terror and distress : 
Long soothe the heart that bitterly will mourn 
The loss of him who never can return ! 



141 



THE NURSE AND THE NEWSPAPER, 

An^ Occasional Epilogue to a Play, performed by the 
Officers of the Eastern District. For the Benefit 
of the Ipswich Lying-i?i Charity, 

The Scene draws and discovers an old Nurse rocking a Cradle ; 
a Table near her, with Bottles, Baskets, and a Newspaper 
upon it. 

Hush ! pretty Darling, hush ! — bye, bye; bye, bye, 
There's a good child : — so ; now it does not cry. 
What, shall I sing a song, or story try at, 
To keep this little helpless bantling quiet ? 
It will not, on an honest, Nurse's conscience, 
Be the first baby that was lull'd with nonsense. 

Young Master sleeps ; his caps are neatly laid, 
His victuals ready, and the caudle made. 
What shall I do the minutes to amuse ? 
Why, though no Scholard, I can read the news ;— i 
But shall I understand it ? — No ; I fear 
There's nothing in my way to study there. 



142 

Well ; let me see : 

(Putting on her spectacles and taking tip the paper.) 
Dear ! Dear ! who could have thought it ? 
What's here ? All News, as pat as if Fd bought it. 
e Labour !' 'Deliv'rance !' now, by my discretion, 
In every line a touch at my profession ! ( Reads.) 
" We hear, from Boulogne, that the num'rous fry 
(t Of rafts, sloops, brigs, and gun-boats, are laid by : 
" The troops, that late were groaning for invasion, 
" Are crying out upon a new occasion : 
" And they who Britain's valour dar'd disparage, 
" Find all their boastings end in — a miscarriage" 

Why aye : that's right ! but England, free and hearty 
Laugh'd always at their threats and Bonaparte. 

(Reads) 
" Now big with just revenge, the teeming North 
<e Collects her forces, brings her myriads forth ; 
u She finds that France in lawless sway increases : 
" That Italy is falling all to pieces : 
ee Such times give birth to more than common zeal, 
" And Austria labours for the public weal, 
" To fix a lasting peace on balanc'd pow'r, 
<l And bless all Europe with a happy hour." 

My Stars ! how gaily folks will drink and sing ! 
I'll take a thimble-full to— ." Bless the King f 



143 

(Reads) 
4t Vain are the plots the foe to Freedom bred: 
ee His projects prettily are brought to bed : 
et Soon may the hour be pregnant with his doom, 
" And the Usurper find his time is come.'* 
Lord ! Lord ! I think the World is lying-in ! 
What's next ? — O ! here advertisements begin ; 
So, to proceed with proper regularity 

(Beads) 
<( The annual Meeting of the Ipswich Charity 
"' Maintain'd by mod'rate weekly contribution" — ■ 

Aye, this I know : a glorious Institution ! 

That soothes the hour with pain and grief opprest, 

And makes, by timely aid the cottage blest. 

What honest heart but would rejoice to say 

This charity is in a thriving may ? 

Still rich in kind protectors, may it flourish, 

And Britain's hardier sons and daughters nourish. 

I'm sure I wish it well, and so for certain, 

Do all our worthy friends behind the curtain. 

[To the Audience~\ 
Then, since 'tis your applause our pains beguiles, 
Since our delights are cradled in your smiles, 
Assist our labours, husk to rest our errors, 
And give us saje dcliv'ry from our terrors. 



144 

THE SOUVENIR. 

Written in the Jirst leaf of Miss Maria Collins'* 
Album. 

Each object traced in this selection, 
To memory prompts some kind reflection : 
The beauty of the blooming flower, 
Prolonged beyond its summer's hour, 
Paints to the fond retracive eye 
How friendships live, when blossoms die. 
This thought the Butterfly discovers ; 
" Affection's spirit round you hovers :" 
And thus you read in ocean's shells; 
" Deep in the heart thy image dwells." 
In landscapes drawn from foreign clime, 
With mountain, flood, and rock sublime, 
That steady, pure regard we trace, 
That owns no change from time or place. 
The nearer scene with truth pourtray'd, 
Where oft our youthful steps have stray'd, 
Brings to endearing recollection 
Each fond, domestic, tried affection, 
And still as varied forms appear, 
To fill the treasured Souvenir, 
Sweet nature's links they join with art, 
In chains that twine around the heart. 



14; 



ON A NEEDLE BOOK 

Presented to an Amiable Young Lady, 

Go, little unpretending toy, 

To her whose willing heart and hand 
Can youth's seductive hours employ, 

As reason and her God command : 
Who lets no passing moment fly 
Without some useful lesson bye. 

Go, whisper that the polish'd mind 
With such incessant care improv'd, 

Delights its just reward to find 
In being honor'd and belov'd 

By those whom kindred ties controul, 

Or friendship and the kindred soul. 

And when her skilful needle's care 
The orphan and the poor shall aid, 

Be thine the blessed task to share, 
And deem thy service overpaid 

In this best truth, well understood, 

Life's greatest bliss is doing good, 



146 



POETICAL EPISTLE TO Col. R. 

Dear Sir, 

Had my wit or my leisure been better, 
I had instantly answered your whimsical letter, 
Which full of bon-mots, good as any by Fox said, 
Prov'd hilarity's source like the pure nitrous Oxyd : 
How we laugh'd and enjoy'd it you'll very well know 
My owning I read it aloud to Miss Proby. [by 

Of fun and of fancy your flight is so vast, I call 
Myself a mere reptile in rhyming fantastical ! 
Delighted, yet humbled, I'm happy to read a 
Competitor's triumph in Olla podrida ! 
And though I can scarcely suppose you intend I 
Should give you the true cacoethes scribendi, 
I'll try, and may mirth and the Muses impel me, 
To cause you to write, and again to excel me. 
I'll link liquid lines in long alliteration, 
Join fashion in risible reiteration, 
And so introducing in amorous song, 
Two opposite names " Mrs. Short, Mr. Long," 
Afford to the ear-tickled multitude sport, 
Repeating them thus Mr. Long, Mrs. Short, 



147 

Or venture my skill at a story Colmanic, 
To thrill through the nerves like fluid galvanic, 
Each bosom exciting that laughter inhabits, 
As that sets a dancing dead frogs and dead rabbits. 
Ah ! no : these are visions that speedily pass us ; 
The gaudy day-dreams of an ape of Parnassus. 
Condemn'd as the story * I send you will tell, 
For ever to scribble and never excel . 

But though all the Muses may frown on my measure, 
The bliss of my friend fills my bosom with pleasure, 
Hope beams on the distance, and smiling, as fancy stirs, 
Paints you blessing and blest in the hall of your an- 
cestors, 
Shews truth' and affection there fixing their throne, 
And the heart you adore — just a heart like your own. 
Should fate for your friends at the Cliff have no more 
Of the joy they derive from your converse, in store, 
They'll learn to rejoice in the dear domesticity, 
And losing your company, greet your felicity ! 
Yet Ipswich and Bury are both so come-at-able, 
That time may demonstrate these blessings compati- 
ble. 
Your hint for improvement has not been neglected, 
I've dismounted the picture, the foliage corrected : 

* Corbral's Edict. 
I 2 



148 

In a week or ten days the new varnish will dry : 
I'll bid it, however reluctant, good bye, 
And send it to Saxham : no, hold ; on reflection, 
I'll wait till you give me some further direction. 

What news of the day could be good in comparison 
With that of your purpos'd return to the garrison ? 
I laid by the star thro' our circle to carry it, 
Mr. Cobbold, MissProby, Miss Sophy, Miss Harriet, 
Little Grace, little Mary, have hands, hearts, and 

lips which 
Will cheerfully hail your arrival at Ipswich, 
Which greetings I trust will in value be doubled 
United with those of your friendly 

E. Cobbold. 

To your excellent Parents I fain would impart, 
In all my best phrases of rhyme or of reason, 

Esteem and regard from the depth of my heart, 
And every good wish of the festival season. 



149 



THE ENTHUSIAST, a Character. 

I knew her well, th' Enthusiast maid, 

When others sorrows claim'd her sigh, 
When brilliant wit around her play'd, 

And genius sparkled in her eye ; 
When youth and fancy deck'd the scene, 

Each hue enliven'd, grac'd each form, 
Bask'd in the noontide ray serene, 

Or sail'd sublimely on the storm. 
So true her song to nature's praise, 

That Shakespeare's spirit might have hung 
Sooth'd o'er her lyre, and deem'd the lays 

His own by Avon's echoes sung. 
Her feeling heart would melt or glow 

To pity's tear or rapture's gleam, 
As pure as heaven's descending snow, 

As fervid as its summer's beam. 
Not her's was beauty's meteor ray 

That frail and fickle passion warms ; 
But in her pensive glance would play 

Expression's milder, tend'rer charms. 
Though small the wealth that she possest, 

That fatal wealth had pow'r to move 



150 

The wishes of a sordid breast 

That well could feign, but felt not love. 
In luckless hour the rnaid believ'd 

False sentiment's dissembled glow, 
The sacrilegious vow receiv'd, 

And dreamt of bliss, and woke to woe. 
For brutal laugh and bitter scorn, 

Profan'd the Muse's fairy bow'rs, 
And chang'd to ruin's den forlorn 

The home that fancy strew'd with ftow'rs. 
Driv'n from that home the joyless bride 

All night upon the threshold lay, 
And vainly wept, and vainly sigh'd, 

And sicken'd at the morning ray. 
But fate relax'd her frown severe, 

For friendship pure, and pity kind, 
Benignant dried th' Enthusiast's tear, 

And sooth'd her heavenly-gifted mind. 
And still, though love's too tender flow'rs 

On Apathy's cold bosom die, 
Imagination's magic pow'rs 

Fresh buds of hope and bliss supply. 
Yes, Mary, all those flow'rets blest 

For thee shall live, shall bloom for thee, 
And dear to ev'ry feeling breast 

The Enthusiast and her song shall be. 



151 

LINES 

Occasioned by a Friend's presenting the Author with a 
Bouquet of the Eriophorum Polystachion, or Cotton 
Grass. 

Where fortune's partial hands withhold 
Her splendid favors, gems and gold, 
Some simple gift, from nature's store 
Delights the feeling bosom more : 
And if a friend that gift impart, 
A plant, a flow'r, can charm the heart. 

The waving cotton grass that spread, 
Light to the gale its sinning head, 
Pure friendship's oft'ring, more I prize 
Than Indian plumes of richest dyes : 
Pleas'd, in its silv'ry tufts I view'd 
The spotless gift of gratitude. 

Within my friend's unruffled breast 
May peace and honor ever rest, 
His ev'ry thought and act be clear 
From vicious taint, then, far more dear, 
Than gems or costly plumes, to me, 
The simple cotton grass shall be. 



152 



THE LORD DOUGLAS, and the HEART OF 
BRUCE. 

The cymbals clash, the trumpets call, 
The battle, near Granada's wall, 

Will shortly be begun ; 
For banners gay and lances bright, 
Of moorish chief and christian knight, 

Are glittering in the sun. 

" Now gentle squire, I pray, declare, 
" What noble stranger's shield you bear ? 

" What proud device you shew ? 
" Fair lady, 'tis Lord Douglas' shield, 
" Who longs his trusty sword to wield 

" Against the Paynim foe." 

O speed the Douglas, speed him well, 
For often shall the minstrels tell 

The deeds his arm has done ; 
When banners gay and lances bright, 
Of many an adverse chief and knight, 

Were glittering in the sun. 



153 

€i Here in the tent, brave Douglas, rest, 
*' And take that casket from thy breast, 

" And lay thy helm aside." 
" I must for yonder field depart ; 
" This casket holds a monarch's heart, 

€( My sword's accustom'd guide." 

Heav'n guard the knights, how fast they ride ! 
O may they keep that crested pride, 

Till well the field be won : 
For banners gay and lances bright, 
Of moorish chief, and christian knight, 

Are glittering in the sun. 

The Douglas hurls the casket high ; 
And now, to conquer or to die, 

He follows Bruce's heart. — 
A moorish shaft his breast has gor'd ; 
His soldiers lift the avenging sword, 

And on the foemen dart. 

See ! see ! the moorish squadron flies ! 
In happy hour the Douglas dies, 

The victory bravely won ; 
When banner gay, and falchion bright, 
Of each triumphant christian knight, 

Are glittering in the sun. 



154 

BALLAD. 

The sound came sweeping the valley along * 
The moon on the hills shone clearly : 

I open'd my window to list to the song, 
For a ballad I love dearly, 

Yes, dearly > 

The voice of the sailor-boy sang to the gale, 

The tune of the ditty ran cheerly; 
The notes were but simple, as simple the tale : 

Yet methought I liked them dearly, 
Yes, dearly ! 

Has my ear known that ballad ? I pensively cry'd, 

Or fancy repeated it merely ? 
As near drew the singer I listen'd and sigh'd, 

For a sea-song I love dearly, 

Yes, dearly ! 

The door I unbolted with fear and alarms ; 

My heart in my bosom beat queerly : 
'Twas William's own footstep, he flew to my arms: 

'Twas the sailor I love dearly, 

Yes, dearly ! 



155 



LETTER TO D. G. Esq.— on a visit at Em— y. 

Dear Coz. 

In the centre of pleasure and mirth, 
Where gay sociality waits upon worth, 
Where with gentleness join'd, wit is certain to please, 
And the riots of Em — y are friendship and ease ; 
While learning and taste each enjoyment refine, 
Can you wish to " luxuriate" on verses like mine ? 
Though simple and plain they no poignancy claim, 
I cannot suppose you are greatly to blame : 
For Epicures, sated with each varied dish, 
Of turtle and venison, poultry and fish, 
Will quit their high fare for a plain mess of potage, 
And feast, with delight, on brown bread in a cottage, 
Forgive me for so long delaying to write, 
' Twas not that I wanted the will to indite, 
I had not the pow'r, for my time was bestow'd 
On employments at home, or engagements abroad. 
A botanist one day, or grave antiquarian ; 
Next morning a sempstress, or abecedarian, 
Now making a frock, and now marring a picture, 
Next conning a sage philosophical lecture ; 



156 

At night at the play, or assisting to kill 
The time of the idlers with whist or quadrille ; 
In cares, or amusements still taking a part, 
Though science and friendship are nearest my heart 

I wrote you in haste a nonsensical letter, 

Direction to B Street, I knew not a better ; 

Ere this I presume it has done me the pleasure 
To bear you my thanks, for the elegant treasure ; 
Thrice dear to my soul, where your pencil's creation 
On inanimate canvas bestows animation. * 

Nor blame me if vanity fondly rehearse 
The pleasure you'll take in perusing my verse : 
The theme you suggested ;— in that let me glory ; 
I fear I have scarcely improv'd on the story : 
The moral might aid you in chusing a wife, 
Did science not claim you her partner for life, 
Yet may you, if chance your intentions should vary, 
Be lov'd by a partner as prudent as Mary. 

When redolent spring shakes the dew from her vest, 
And calls the fleet swallow again to her nest, 
Come view me enjoying a rural retreat, 
The hawthorn in blossom o'ershading a seat, 

* A Portrait of the Author's Father painted by D. G. 



157 

Where silent retirement mild pensiveness wooes, 
'Tis sacred to friendship, to thought, and the Muse 
Carv'd under its branches the names shall appear 
To nature, philosophy, sentiment dear, 
Come smile to behold me inscribing D. G. 
Meanwhile I remain yours sincerely, 

e. a 

SONNET TO MISS K. P. 

On observing her Garden neglected during her tempo- 
rary Absence from home* 

Pensive I stray my Katie's garden round, 

While she, far absent from her native bow'r, 
Bestows no care to clear its little bound, 

Or rears as erst she wont each tender flow'r, 
Now tangled weeds deform the garden's grace, 

Rude nettles spring where lillies blossom'd fair, 
And scarce a vermeil flow'ret knows its place, 

Reft of her fostering hand and guardian care. 
Ah how unlike, methinks, this dreary waste 

To Katie's ever cultur'd heart appears ! 

There no foul vice its head audacious rears, 
But all is virtue, tenderness, and taste. 
Then haste, dear maid, employ thy cares refln'd 
To make thy garden lovely as thy mind. 



158 



MIDNIGHT RESPONSE, ROUND, AND SONG OF 
THE VENETIAN GONDOLIERS. 
From The Bravo's Task. — a tragedy. 

1st. Gondolier. 
Still is the night, all nature seems to sleep, 
Save glitt'ring stars reflected in the deep. 

2nd. Gondolier. 
Comrade thy voice I hear, and hail its pow'r 
To cheer the silence of the midnight hour. 

3rd. Gondolier. 
Sweet floats that melody the wave along: 
Attend, and raise the harmony of song. 
ROUND. 

1. Slow comes the sound, hark ! comrades, hark I 
Twenty-four times from the church of St. Mark, 

Does the great bell toll. 

2. In the moon's pale beam, the white sails gleam : 

Dash, dash, dash, the feather'd oar 
Speeds the waves upon the shore, 

With a gentle roll. 

3. Now in full choir, at their midnight hour, 
The cloister'd train their requiems pour 

For the parting souL 



159 

SONG. 

Now the fresher breezes rise, 

Now the zephyrs lightly move, 
Fan the wave and cool the skies, 
Breathing happiness and love. 
Chorus, 
Hark the bells' repeated chime 
Speeds the flight of lazy time. 

(Symphony with bells.) 
Laughing pleasure gaily strays 

By yon planet's fav'ring beam, 
While its mellow radiance plays 
On the scarcely rippling stream. 
Chorus. 
Sportive carols, echo round, 
To the flutes' responsive sound. 

(Symphony with flutes.) 
Smooth we steer the painted boat, 

Ply the oar, or spread the sail, 
While the notes of music float 
Sweetly on the evening gale. 
Chorus. 
Swiftly now the minutes fly 
Wing'd with harmony and joy. 
Exeunt Gondoliers. Symphony in full band. 



160 



LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. 

With counsel 'gainst his shafts provided, 
Love from my childhood I derided, 
And strove with such a prudent care 
To act as should avoid his snare. 
I said, why 'tis a very madness 

To turn as he shall guide the rein ! 
My heart with freedom danced and gladness, 

Before I saw my lovely Jane. 

'Twas thus at gay fifteen I rattled, 
And with young Cupid gaily battled : — 
The prince of Cytherea's isle 
Would oft at my resistance smile, 
And whisper to his troop of loves, 

" Let him some little conquests gain ; 
I'll pledge my bow, our pow'r he proves 

When ambush'd in the smiles of Jane." 

His plan thus laid, in sly probation, 
His frankness led me to temptation ; 



161 

In Mary's sprightly eyes he play'd, 
And thence some little scratches made, 
I thought her lively, passing fair ! 

Of manners innocent and plain ; 
Admir'd her free ingenuous air : 

But what was she compar'd to Jane ? 

Blythe Cupid, as you well may reason, 
Not thus renounc'd his triumph's season, 
But placed himself, with darts in store, 
On the soft lips of Leonore : — 
'Twas here he thought himself secure, 

And triumph'd, but his boast was vain ; 
My heart so strove, it fled the lure : — 

But still for me he kept back Jane. 

Meanwhile, with courage all undaunted, 
Enraptur'd I my prowess vaunted, 
And of my double conquest proud, 
Talk'd o'er its worth in accents loud. 
How does a victor care forget ! 

Adieu to caution's wonted train ! 
I rais'd my conqu'ring eyes ; they met 

The much more conqu'ring glance of Jane. 



162 

Time was I should have fear'd to meet her ; 
My pride, or else my doubts discreeter, 
Affected often to despise, 
Yet shunn'd the pow'r of beauteous eyes. 
How love can mock our mighty boast ! 

How change our sense of joy or pain ! 
I now account each moment lost 

That I have spent away from Jane. 

SONNET, 

On some Violets planted in my Garden by a Friend. 

Cath'rine, though not from fortune's glitt'ring stores 

Thou hadst a gift to offer, yet 'twas thine 
A tender sweetness in thy gift to pour, 

That gave thy heart's expression best to mine. 

The violets, o'er yon western bank that twine, 
To thy protecting hand their station owe ; 

In brighter tints may proud exotics shine, 
But none with fresher native fragrance blow : 
Even as thy violets in my garden grow, 

So shall thy friendship in my bosom live, 
Its rooting fibres round my heart-strings throw, 

And sweetness to each pure sensation give, 
Still flourish there unfading, and defy 
The changing climate and the stormy sky. 



163 



THE BAT.— A SIMILE. 

Frail child of earth ! to whom is given 

To soar with habitants of heaven, 

And court, hi air, the still serene 

Of twilight's deep and soften'd scene ; 

When purple pomps the clouds invest, 

From rays that linger in the west, 

And massy shadows, dark and vast, 

Their veil sublime, o'er nature cast ; 

What time, from pale and timid flow'rs, 

Sabaean ordors scent the bow'rs, 

O then 'tis thine, with rapid flight, 

To mock the quick and anxious sight, 

Whose speculation seeks to trace 

Thy arrowy path, thy flitting grace, 

That, like the meteor of the sky, 

Scarce paints a form upon the eye ; 

Now seen, now lost, with magic pow'r, 

The spirit of the mystic hour ! 

But placed with those of equal birth, 

To walk the common track of earth, 

Poor feeble thing of cumbrous form, 

Thou era wist more helpless than the worm, 
k % 



164 

The blisses thy congeners try, 

Scarce given to taste, much less enjoy ! 

How oft has fancy smil'd to see, 

Some son of genius shewn in thee ! 

His flight, unsearchable as thine, 

Eludes the glance of vulgar eyne, 

As rais'd from earth, on pinion sure 

He cleaves the palpable obscure; 

Or flitting through the dusky glade 

Enjoys sublimity in shade ; 

Breathes odors richer far than those 

That day elicits from the rose, 

And peoples all the shadowy space 

With visions of immortal grace. 

But check his stretch'd and soaring wing ; 

His pow'rs to common habits bring ; 

Place him on earth, and bid him then 

Associate with his fellow men ; 

You'll find him, spite of all his boast, 

So awkward, helpless, poor and lost, 

That, if possest of mere good nature, 

In pity to the dubious creature, 

With flattery's aid you'll kindly try 

To help him, once again, to fly. 

Here let no scornful eagle cry, 

" Avaunt 1 Intruder on the sky ;" 



165 

Nor fellow quadruped, with spite, 
Deride ths short, and hasty flight; 
Lest, driv'n from earth, expell'd from air, 
Of mousing owl, with critic stare, 
That shrirfks from candor's steady ray, 
The Bat become the midnight prey. 

SONG. 

From " Anacreoris Home, a Masque." 

Bring the perfumes, garlands bring, 
Teach the silken robe to flow, 

Twine the fairest flow'rs of spring, 
Bind them lightly on my brow. 

Let a zone of jewels rare 

For the dance my vest confine ; 

Half unbraid my ringlet hair ; 
Crown me with the purple vine. 

O ! for roseate hours that fly 

Wing'd with mirth and wing'd with joy, 

Till the soul forget to measure 

Time by aught but circling pleasure ! 



166 

THE VISION. 

(( A Woman's Story at a Winter's Fire" 
" Authorised by her Grandam—?' 

The village nurse, an aged crone, 
Sate on the farmer's warm hearth-stone, 

And, cheer'd by mantling ale, 
From mem'ry's storehouse of traditions, 
Of murders, death-signs, apparitions, 

Told many a wond'rous tale. 

The half-spent faggot noiseless burn'd, 
Her wheel the good- wife softly turn'd 

As horrors deeper grew ; 
The children gaz'd in mute amazement, 
And, at each breeze that shook the casement, 

Their circle closer drew. 

Ah ! said the Crone, I well remember 
My grandam told, when dark December, 

With cold and sullen blast, 
Swept howling on through moss and sedge, 
Her sire one night, o'er Blackstone Edge,* 1 

In dreary journey past. 



* An elevated Moor on the confines of Yorkshire and 
Lancashire. 



167 

The gloomy clouds roll'd dark and low, 
With drizzling rain, and sleet, and snow, 

When, shooting from afar, 
A ray of red and wav'ring light, 
Through the black covert of the night, 

Gleam'd like a misty star. 

As nearer to that flame he drew, 
Strange shapes of horror met his view ; 

A cauldron's monstrous size 
Athwart the moor its shadow flung ; 
A tunnel' d dome that o'er it hung 

Seem'd blended with the skies. 

That magic cauldron's murky bound 
Twelve meagre witches hobbled round, 

With howl, and groan, and yell : 
When, sailing on the midnight storm. 
The prince of air, in giant form, 

Hung oe'r their hellish spell. 

He laugh'd and turn'd him on his cloud, 
Was never laugh so wild, so loud ! 

Then, down that tunnel'd dome, 
While glared his eye's exultant beam, 
From gaping jaws disgorg'd a stream, 

Of black and filthy foam. 



168 

To greet their prince the beldams soar : 
The cauldron bursts with thund'ring roar, 

And from its pitchy womb 
Exploded, hosts of loathsome shapes, 
Wing'd toads, and lizards, bats and apes, 

In rude disorder come. 

On eagle pinions some aspire, 

With crowned brow and locks of fire ; 

Some mount the city's wall ; 
Some flutter round the trading town, 
And some o'er hamlet, dale and down, 

On earth's cool bosom crawl. 

All these, and more the good-man saw, 
And pondered, with religious awe, 

On that mysterious sight ; 
Then to his children's greedy ear, 
Would frequent breathe the tale of fear 

That mark'd December's night. 

And " O beware fond youth," he said, 
'• For vice, in fairer forms array'd, 

' ' Is oft by beauty screen'd : 
" But if you feel wrath, malice, pride, 
" Or envy touch your hearts, avoid 

" The Vomit of the Fiend." 



169 



BALLAD. 

From " Anacreon's Home, a Masque" 

A youthful pair in Tempe's bow'rs 

At Hymen's altar bow'd, 
At morn they deck'd the shrine with flow'rs 

And faith eternal vow'd.. 

The bridegroom sought Thessalia's plain, 

And near the turfy hill 
Where youths the fiery courser rein, 

Attain'd the prize of skill. 

The bride on Peneus' verdant shore 

His laurel garland wove : 
A pirate band the trembler bore 

From Tempe's vale and love. 

From clime to clime he seeks the fair: 

Hope's visionary spell 
Beguiles him oft, and fades to air: 

He sighs, my love farewell ! 



170 



LETTER TO MISS S. 



From the Vicinity of Windermere* 

The mild shades of eve soothe the passions to rest, 
And the breezes are hush'd upon Windermere's breast ; 
The blackbird's sweet melody trills thro' the grove, 
And the cuckoo's response joins the warbling of love : 
'Tis nature's repose, or night's stillness refin'd, 
Not a leaf, or a blossom, is wav'd by the wind ; 
Inspiring tranquillity broods o'er the lake, 
While friendship's delightful sensations awake. 
To you, my dear girl, does this ev'ning belong : 
Affection breathes forth the effusion of song. 

The wild scenes of Keswick this morning I view'd, 
Rocks, mountains, and torrents, majestic and rude ; 
Where glens, deep embosom'd, resound with the roar 
Of Barrow* responsive to dashing Lowdore ;* 
Where the eagle and osprey, scream loud as they sail 
O'er the summit of Skiddaw that frowns on the vale,, 
Stern Skiddaw gigantic ! thy wonderful height 
Has lessen'd the objects of tender delight ; 

* Two cascades in the vicinity of Keswick. 



171 

How sunk are the charms of the village and wood ! 

The lake is no more a magnificent flood. 

Thy pride throws a gloom o'er each elegant feature, 

Like grandeur, at war with the blessings of nature. 

If such the effects of too high elevation 

Be ours a plain home, in a temperate station, 

Where life's smiling comforts around us may wait, 

Unshadow'd by pomp or the frowns of the great. 

Come, join me, in fancy, where Windermere smiles 
On hills crown'd with verdure, and wood-shaded is! es ; 
Where Rydal's smooth lake in tranquillity lies, 
Like the bosom of virtue reflecting the skies ; 
Where Grassmere's gay slopes, gently bending are 

seen 
To tinge the clear wave with their beautiful green 
Where Leathes-water catches the rills that, pure 

welling, 
Roll murmuring down the rough side of Helvellyn, 
Till hush'd on her bosom, they sink into rest 
Like sorrow reclining on sympathy's breast . 
What soft tones of tenderness steal thro' the glade, 
As silent I list to the distant cascade ! 
Now, nearer reclin'd, in a grot of the mountain, 
My song thus addresses the nymph of the fountain. 



172 

Naiad of Rydal, while thy wave 

Hoarse pouring down the rocky steep., 
Shakes the grey cliff and gloomy cave, 

Here rest thy bending head and weep. 
Here tender melancholy dwells 

And lifts to Heav'n her tearful eye ; 
Here pity haunts the mossy cells 

And heaves the sympathetic sigh. 
Come pour thy plaints in freedom here, 

For here the world-worn heart foregoes 

Its cares, and wooes ideal woes, 
When wild imagination wakes the causeless tear. 

Romantic Naiad ! thou dost love 
The silent, dark, impending grove, 
Impervious to the noon-tide ray 
The busy glare of flaunting day : 
O, hide me, in some still retreat, 
Some lowly hermitage, beside 
Thy falling waters fullest tide, 
Where echo's voice, in accents sweet, 
The dashing of thy waves might borrow, 
And teach thy murmurs softer sorrow, 
As she the gentle plaint resounded, 
By woods and waterfalls surrounded. 



173 

Within thy still sequester'd bow'r 
Shall fancy breathe her magic pow'r, 
And bring, in fairy-visions, near, 
The forms to love and friendship dear. 
Hence, noisy folly loud and rude ! 

Be wild ambition far away ! 
No busy thronging cares intrude, 
But let the heart keep holiday ; 
Alive to nature's ev'ry charm, 
To all her best sensations warm : 
While these delights my bosom fill, 
O, gently pour thy mountain rill, 
And gently draw thy gloom profound, 
Romantic Naiad ! all around. 
The tranquiliz'd winds are too lazy to shake 
The big drops of rain as they fall on the lake ; 
The lingering twilight still glows in the west, 
Tho* slow sailing clouds the broad mountain invest ; 
Night spreads o'er the waters her tinting serene, 
And silence, and shadow, envelope the scene. 
But sudden the visions of glory unfold ; 
Yon tall rocky cliffs are resplendent with gold ! 
The lightening has pierc'd through the darkness 

profound, 
And far distant thunder re-echoes around. 
What transport sublime ! — Affectation may fly it ; 
Expression is wanting. — Pause, muse, and enjoy it. 



174 



MARCUS OSTORIUS to his WAR HORSE. 

Restrain thy pride, my gallant steed, 
Nor pant to share the dangerous toil, 

For now, unhors'd, with cautious tread, 
Our cohorts press the marshy soil, 

While here their patient coursers feed 
Regardless of the battle coil : 

And canst thou not with them remain 

Contented on the grassy plain ? 

O ! no ; I note thine eye of fire, 

Thy glance that ask the loosen'd rein, 

The nostrils stretching with desire 
Of instant combat, and the mane 

Toss'd high in air, the snort of ire 
Which scarce the bit and curb restrain s 

Come then, my steed, put forth thy might, 

And brave the terrors of the fight. 



* The skeleton of a horse with his caparisons, and a num- 
ber of Roman funereal urns, were recently discovered at 
Brome, in Suffolk, the supposed sight of a Roman victory. 



175 

Beware, my Xanthus, gently pass ; 

Thy path with looks of lightning view : 
No steps have track'd the dewy grass 

That bound ! — 'tis well ; — thy course pursue: 
How shakes around the deep morass ! 

O I bravely, bravely struggled through ! 
Look, on that bank, a hostile band, 
Compact the fierce Iceni * stand. 

The spearmen pass the ford below, 
Expos'd to storms of arrowy hail ; 

The hill they climb, they gain the brow, 
And yon barbaric camp assail. 

Hark, to the yelling of the foe, 
The battle-shout, the battle- wail ! 

Mark that opposing mound of stone ; 

There urge thy strength ; on, Xanthus, on. 

Now strain the muscle3 of thy chest, 

Oft as it met their flinty walls : 
Well on the mound thy force has prest : 

Start not my steed ; it shakes, it falls 1 
Wave in their thickest ranks thy crest, 

And forward, — 'tis our country calls ! 
We've won their banner, — see, they fly .' 
The shout is " Rome and victory !" 
• The people of Suffolk, Norfolk and Cambridgeshire. 



176 

Oh still, my courser ; to the right, 
Where frowns in shade that giant oak, 

One hardy chief prolongs the fight ; 
A Roman bends beneath his stroke. — 

O ! speed thee, like the bolt of light 
When mortals Jove's own ire provoke. 

Hail, brightest glory of the strife, 

A fellow-soldier's rescued life 1 

Why staggers thus my foaming horse ? 

Thy strength has War's wild ardor spent ? 
Ha ! bleeds thy flank ? — a Briton's force 

Too fatally the dart has sent : 
Nor blench'd my steed, nor swerv'd his course, 

When through his sides this arrow went. 
That groan supprest, that lengthen'd breath, 
Still speaks thy courage strong in death. 

And sinks so calm thy mighty frame ? 

What, not a struggle at the last ? 
The shout that from our warriors came, 

Their voice of triumph, as it past 
Just reach'd him, and a glance of flame 

Athwart his glazing eye-balls cast : 
One look he gave of wonted pride, 

Then stretch'd his stiffening limbs and died, 



177 

Build, conquerors, build the funeral pyre, 
For those who never shall return, 

And bid the flames to heav'n aspire, 
In honor of the dead ye mourn : 

Then weep, as fades the sinking fire, 
And piously their bones inurn. 

Each for his comrade pours the tear, 

And shall not mine be honor'd here ? 

Yes ; near the general pyre be made 
My faithful servant's bed of clay : 

In panoply of war array'd, 

Boss, bit and bridle with him lay ; 

Place too my sword beside his head, 
To note the triumph of the day, 

And History's page his fame shall tell : — . 

Farewell, my gallant Steed ! farewell. 



178 



VALENTINE, THE MILKMAID. 

I rise with morning's early light, 
Ere yet the sun-beams full and bright 

Pierce through the lattic'd bow'rs ; 
Brush with quick step the spangled heath, 
Imbibe the heifer's fragrant breath, 

And scents of dewy flow'rs. 
Returning home with brimming pail, 
I wake the echoes of the vale 

With many a carol gay ; 
Nor soaring lark, nor livelier thrush, 
Nor nightingale, from hawthorn bush 

Can pour a blither lay. 
The quiet sleep, the flush of health, 
The peaceful mind's exhaustless wealth 

To rural toil are giv'n ; 
Let others wealth or splendor prize., 
I hold these pure and simple joys 

The choicest boon of Heav'n. 
The Milk- Maid as she tripp'd along 
Thus sung ; and love has caught the song ; 
To tell you Sir, that you may best 
With rural innocence be blest. 



179 



VALENTINE, THE BIRD-SELLER, 

Birds; Birds ;— 'tis singing Birds I cry ! 
Come pretty maids, who'll buy, who'll buy ? 

Here haste, for Birds to me belong 
Of every feather, every song, 
And such a one you may engage 
As you would wish for life to cage. 

This courtly Parrot hist survey, 
Who says but what you choose to say ; 
But such in flattery over weening 
Give in their words but little meaning : 
What e'er his elegance or beauty, 
His sense, I think, can little suit you. 

This piping Bullfinch well can sing 
Malbrouk, the Wreath, God save the King, 
But tho' so perfect every tune 

You'll find his notes insipid soon, 

L 2 



180 

The Goldfinch ever brisk and gay, 
To sprightly measures tunes his lay; 

But yet methinks he seems for you 

Too restless, and too noisy too. 

The Nightingale, whose plaintive tone 

Breathes sadly to the silent moon ; 

Too melancholy pours the strain 

And somewhat thrills the heart with pain. 

But here's a bird of gentler note 

Who scarce less sweetly tunes his throat. 

And sings when winter's dreary day 

Has silenc'd every other lay. 

For dearly does the Redbreast prize 

The social hearth's domestic joys : 

Such be your Bird, and such your mate 
And every bliss your choice await. 



181 

VALENTINE. 

An Irish Harp entwined with Shamrock, 

The Harp of green Erin has sung of her mountains* 
Where eagles to liberty shout the loud strain ; 

Of her rivers that sparkling, flow pure from their 
fountains, 
And the verdure that shines on her em'rald plain. 

It sung of her saints, how their primitive blessing 
To Erin still holy, its graces imparts ; 

No venemous reptiles her fair fields possessing 
No rancorous passion her children's free hearts. 

It sung of her time-honour'd heroes whose story 
The lay of the Minstrel still warmly inspires ; 

Her sons at the sound have ruahed forward to glory 
And equall'd the valor and fame of their Sires. 

When the chords in effusions of tenderness roll, 
What sounds of delight can so rapturous prove, 

What notes to such sympathy temper the soul, 
As the Harp of green Erin, when singing of love. 



182 

Then lady affect not, to-night to disdain 

The heart you believe to be generous and true; 

But with smiles of complacency welcome the strain, 
The Harp of green Erin is breathing for you. 

VALENTINE.— THE SAVOYARD GIRL. 

In mountain ditty wild and free 

I sing the charms of liberty ; 

Oft pausing on his bounding way 

The Chamois listen'd to the lay ; 

Why turn you with averted eye 

And wave your hand and heave a sigh? 

I'll sing of Alpine peaks on high 
That glitter in the clear blue sky ; 
And on their lofty summits shew 
A wreath of pure unsullied snow ; 
If such my song then why appear 
To listen with reluctant ear ? 

Oh, now I see; I'll change the strain 
From freedom's joy to slavery's pain ; 
No song of mountain snows can prove 
A charm to those who burn with love ; 
Attend then, and you'll quickly deem 
My song a more congenial theme. 



183 

O light and silken chains are they 
That round the heart affection ties, 

And lambent are the fires that play 
In soften'd light from beauty's eyes 

And never faithful breast complains 

Those fires to feel, to wear those chains. 

The bands that love prepares for you 
Shall be with every virtue twin'd, 

And from an eye of heavenly blue 
Be gentleness with radiance join'd. 

An equal band your bride secures, 
Her love shall burn as bright as yours. 



184 



ADDRESS, 

Introductory to the Castle Spectre, as 'performed by 
the Officers of the District in 1805, at the Theatre 
Ipswich, for the Benefit of the Norwich Company 
of Comedians, 

Ere yet athwart the magic scen'ry glance 
The bright illusive visions of romance, 
One moment, ere our Author's glowing diction 
In captivating splendour dresses fiction, 
Let simpler truth, in social phrase impart 
The unaffected impulse of the heart. 

Methinks I hear the voice of critic rage 
Cry, " hence ! ye vain usurpers of the stage !" 
Hush ! critics, hush ! we boast a potent charm 
To blunt your satire, and your wrath disarm, 
Benevolence — you greet it — O ! how well 
Each British bosom owns the pow'rful spell ! 

Mistake not our attempt — we seek to-night 
To strengthen, not usurp, the actor's right, 



185 

That, when his day of mimic pomp is o'er 
And the full voice that charm'd, can charm no more 
The soothing hand of competence may spread 
A downy pillow for his aged head. 

But howsoe'er we deprecate your frown, 

No humble, no inglorious aim we own ; 

Ours is the ardent wish to please, that draws, 

By its own merits, kind, yet just applause. 

Be ours, the soul to animate and raise ; 

To hear, in friendship's voice, the voice of praise, 

From care an hour of sadness to beguile ; 

To wake, on beauty's cheek the dimpled smile, 

Or bid her eye, in soften'd lustre wear 

Its dearer grace, or sympathizing tear : 

Cold were the heart that loiter'd to explain 

How blest their triumph who can these attain ! 

Yet who, for such a prize, shall dare contest, 

Nor feel one fear obtruding on his breast ? 

Let kind indulgence prompt us to excel, 

Cheer our best hopes, our chilling doubts dispel, 

Smile on our Spectres merits, we implore ye, 

And prove our terrors all phantasmagoria. 



186 



POOR LUCKLESS MARY.— a ballad 

What form in yonder dewy vale 

Gathers the worm-wood, rue and clary ? 
One late the pride of Wensley dale, 

Poor luckless Mary. 

Her soul was pure, her heart was gay, 

And light her step as any fairy, 
And sweetly beam'd the morning ray 
On smiling Mary. 

Her Father's homely board she drest 

With simplest viands, neat though chary, 
And he, at evening, grateful blest 

His darling Mary. 

Alas ! that fortune gave a lot 

To youth's fair prospects so contrary, 
Beguil'd by love she left her cot, 

In prudent Mary! 



187 

Quick changing as the clouds of morn, 

Her love forgot his promise airy, 

And to the world's unfeeling scorn 

Deserted Mary. 

With tears and agony of grief 

Her Father mourn'd his child unwary, 
Till idiot stupor gave relief 

To sighs for Mary. 

And when she view'd his pallid cheek, 

How fast the rose of hers would vary! 
She look'd to Heav'n with aspect meek; 
Heav'n pitied Mary. 

And now a Parent's age to cheer 

She sells the worm-wood, rue and clary ; 
Thy bitter herbs, thy bitterer tear, 

Shall bless thee Mary. 



188 



THE KAMTSCHDALE TO HIS DOGS. 

On with the sledge : my Dogs, away ; 
Soon shall we feel the vernal ray. 
I hear the wolf's retiring howl ; 
The sullen bear begins to growl : 
The bear, the wolf, ye need not fear, 
While mine the shield, and mine the spear. 

On with the sledge — when mounts the sun, 
Your wintry task, my Dogs, is done ; 
Then shall ye range the forest free, 
And taste the joys of Liberty : 
While I, with various toil and care, 
Our store of winter food prepare. 

On with the sledge : and thou, its guide, 

My faithful Kiac, by my side 

Wilt all the busy summer stay, 

And voluntary service pay : 

More dear thy master's voice to thee 

Than all the sweets of of Liberty ! 



189 



THE REMONSTRANCE. 

Why did my Hen'rys bosom grieve 
To see me share a humble lot? 

Why for the city, does he leave 
Our wooded glen, our peaceful cot ? 

Our grassy fields, our lowing kine^ 

Our toils that wake the glow of healtk, 

A peaceful look, a smile of thine, 
Are joys I would not change for wealth. 

What bliss arose our babes to see 
Returning from the heathy hill, 

With agile limbs and spirits free, 
And hearts awake to nature's thrill. 

No more the sea-bird's pendent nest 
Shall tempt them to the hanging rocks, 

Or Summer, from her flowr'y vest, 
Shake dew-drops on their golden locks. 



190 

Perchance when o'er each faded cheek 
Pale languor's hue shall slowly steal, 

Remorse, with sterner voice, may speak,. 
And bid thee too severely feel. 

The paths that fame so gaily vaunts 
Are oft with painful foot-steps trode ; 

And proud ambition's dearest haunts 
Are disappointment's drear abode. 

O, do not from these scenes depart ; 

Retract the fatal rash decree ! 
Restore each transport to my heart, 

Its transports spring from love and thee. 



191 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 

Who asked what she should do to be universally belov'd. 

You ask, dear Jane, what you shall do 
What cautious path in life pursue, 
And tell me you would fain be taught 
How you shall be admir'd and sought 
You on my counsel would rely 
For what you better know than I, 
Yet I must give it when you ask 
And feel much honor'd in the task. 

Your dress, though still my task supplied, 

Let modesty and neatness guide: 

By gentle manners strive to please ; 

But not by effort banish ease, 

And in your unaffected mien 

The smile of cheerfulness be seen. 

Your wit, or sense should never be 

Trick'd out in gauds of repartee, 

And flaunting forth, like City spark 

On Sunday cantering through the park ; 



192 

But be each virtue in your breast 

Seen inmate, not a casual guest. 

Of no superior merit boast : 

Who least possess, oft claim it most, 

But you by modesty will gain 

That praise which pride shall seek in vain. 

To sum these precepts all in one- 
Just act as you have ever done. 



THE CROOKED STICK.— a tale. 
Addressed to unmarried Ladies. 

'Twas on that * Night when, as we're told 
By wrinkled females sage and old, 
That necromantic arts have pow'r 
At deepest midnight's awful hour 
Spectres from dreary glooms to raise, 
And rend the veil from future days. 
When round some lonely barley-mow 
The trembling maidens hemp-seed sow, 
And cautious look behind, and see 
A swain and scythe in ev'ry tree. 

• All Saint's Eve. 



198 

When the pale damsel with affright 

Watches the taper's waning light, 

In its last twinkle to discover 

A shade that represents her" lover ; 

While each upon the spell she tries 

With palpitating faith relies. 

On this dread night when all was still, 

Save wint'ry winds that whistled shrill, 

Three virgin sisters, young and fair, 

A charm of wond'rous pow'r prepare ! 

Their father's rural mansion stood 

Deeply embosom'd in a wood; 

A lofty hill rose bold behind, 

O'er whose rude brow, rock'd by the wind, 

A castle's antique ruin frown'd, 

And spread a deeper horror round. 

One spacious room alone remain'd 

Entire, and time's attack disdain'd : 

Hither with tottering steps they sped, 

The screech-owl flitting over head. 

These youthful sisters, gay and pretty , 
Were nam'd Susanna, Mary, Kitty : 
And each had oft, in secret, sigh'd 
To know if she should be a bride, 



194 

And who the youth whom she one day 
Might " love, and honor, and obey." 
This most important truth to prove, 
And fate's involving gloom remove, 
The circle's magic pow'r they try, 
And lift the hazle wand on high, 
With mutter'd words of import dire : 
Swift dart the gleams of lurid fire, 
While 'midst their glare arose a shade 
Who thus bespoke each pallid maid. 

" When you hear the early horn 
" Rouse the echoes of the morn, 
*• Quit your downy couch and move 
" Swiftly to the neighb'ring grove ; 
" There amid the various boughs 
" Chuse the fairest stick that grows, 
" As your wand is tall and straight, 
" Worth and happiness shall wait 
" On the swain with whom you share 
f{ Each domestic joy and care : 
" But the boughs you once refuse 
'* You must ne'er return to chuse, 
" Nor, with eye retracive, pore 
" On the branches scorn'd before. 
" Be not thoughtless, proud or vain, 
" Chuse a wand, nor chuse again." 






195 

Down sunk the sprite : a hollow blast 
Shook the dark ruin as it past ! 
The trembling maids, with fear opprest, 
Retir'd to terror-broken rest. 

The sun in sullen splendor rose, 

A misty chaplet on his brows ; 

Swift to the grove their fate to try 

The blooming sisters eager fly. 

Kitty, whose wild but winning face 

United rompish smiles with grace, 

Carelessly gay the branches view'd 

And found one moderately good ; 

" This for my choice," said she, '* I take 

" Who longer seeks a worse may make." 

A little onward Mary stray'd, 

Each bush and tree with care survey \i ; 

She saw a wand of comely height. 

Free from rude knots, and almost straight 

" Shall I," said she, " for one defect 

" So fair a bough as this neglect ? 

" Let me but decent merit gain, 

* l Who seeks perfection seeks in vain." 

She paus'd, and with a trembling hand 

Cut from its parent tree the wand. 



196 

Susanna sneer'd and look'd askance, 
And ey'd each twig with scornful glance 
This was too clumsy, that too slender, 
Each had some failing to offend her; 
Till quite confus'd, alone she stood 
By the last stick in all the wood, 
An ugly, crooked, scrambling brier, 
Fit only for a peasant's fire ! 
No retrospective choice allow'd, 
She sigh'd, and own'd herself too proud : 
But ts that or none" the die was cast, 
She took the crooked stick at last ! 

This moral learn ye fair and gay, 
Chuse with attention, not delay. 



197 



IMPROMPTU. 

To the Lords of creation — with meek recognition 
Of duty, the Ladies present a petition ; 
And beg they may all be permitted to share 
In the notes that now distantly float on the air. 
For here (in the drawing-room) sitting forlorn, 
They hear but by fits, the sweet notes of Charles 

Horn. 
Then dear Lords and Masters, attend to their card, 
And the smiles you most wish shall compliance 

reward. 



These verses were written impromptu, at the Rev. Mr. 
Longe's of Coddenham. After dinner when the Ladies had 
retired, Mr. Charles Horn, who was engaged as a profes- 
sional singer, upon the occasion of the opening of the organ, 
favoured the Gentlemen with many songs : the Ladies ex- 
pressing a wish to be his auditors, Mrs. Cobbold wrote the 
above lines, which of course had their desired effect. 



198 



RURAL EMPLOYMENT, 
A TALE FOR THE CITIZENS. 

This piece was the favourite one of Recitation with 
Mrs, Cobbold. 

With Iong-wish*d plum his pockets lin'd, 
Uncraz'd by wit his solid mind, 
Sir Toby feels no small deb'ght 
To view himself a city Knight ! 
And madam, in her sattins frisking, 
Smirks at the sound of tc Lady Griskin :"* 
But Thames-street is not quite the go ; 
She oft had told Sir Toby so : 
She hates the city's noise and riot, 
And longs for rural ease and quiet. 
Sir Toby thought the scheme was good, 
And yielding, as all husbands should 9 
To sweet, persuasive, winning woman, 
He buys a house on Clapham Common, 

How clean the rooms! how sweet the air ! 
How fresh the garden ten yards square ! 
The grass how green ! the roads how good ! 
And how genteel the neighbourhood ! 



199 

And, with no niggard bounty granting, 
That not a pleasure might be wanting 
To wake on madam's brow a frown, 
A chariot does her wishes crown ! 
Nay more, to swell the stream of pride, 
Sir Toby buys a horse to ride, 
A fat, sleek, ambling, steady creature, 
And pony too, for honest Peter ! 

Now might the heaven-taught poet sing, 
How sweet the early gales of spring, 
That sighing through the leafless bow'r 
Wake the young bud and tender flow'r, 
Tune the soft music of the grove, 
And breathe around delight and love J 
But I shall be content to say, 
The month was March, and fine the day, 
When forth upon his steed so fair, 
Sir Toby rode to take the air, 
And sleek-hair'd Peter, honest lad J 
Kept close behind him on his pad. 

As slow they jogg'd, the high-road keeping, 
And over gates and hedges peeping, 
The Knight espy'd a sturdy swain 
Who from a basket scatter'd grain, 



200 

His. hand across the furrow swung,.- 
And wide the future harvest fhing» 

The Knight to Peter hollow'd out, 
" See ! vat is that there man about >" 
Peter reply'd, with humble bow, 
" An't please your honor, I don't know/' 
" Vy don't you ax then ? stupid elf! 
M No stop, you dunce, I'll ax myself:" 
The Knight rejoin'd ; for well he knew 
That fame had told, and told it true, 
How oft the greatest of the great 
Would quit awhile their rank and state, 
Freely to talk with country folk, 
And questions ask, and crack a joke : 
'Twas fashion sanction'd the intention, 
And justify M the condescension, 
As thus, of elocution vain, 
The portly Knight address'd the swain : 
" Hey ! honest countryman, I say, 
" Vy do you throw that corn avay ? 

The swain replies ; " Lord, Sir, I sow 
" This corn in spring to make it grow, 
" And hope at harvest 'twill be more 
" A hundred times than 'twas before. 



201 

<f Why don't your honor know that greens, 
" Peas, cauliflowers, potatoes, beans, 
" And all good things you have in town 
" Are this way in the country grown ?" 

" Thank you, my lad, here's half a crown/' 
The Knight rejoin'd, and rubb'd his pate, 
Then home return'd with joy elate, 
To Lady Griskin eager ran, 
And told the wond'ring Dame his plan : 
The Lady thought it very fit, 
And much admir'd her Spouse's wit ; 
Then calling Peter, bade him hie 
To market strait, and quickly buy 
A rump of beef, with fat as fine on 
As Alderman could wish to dine on. 

And now to work Sir Toby goes ; 

He stoops, he toils, he pants, he blows, 

He digs his garden ev'ry foot, 

Drags out the tulips by the root, 

O'er turns each shrub, each rose-bush breaks, 

And plants the whole with fat beef steaks I 

Now pleas'd he views his task complete, 
Exulting counts each future treat, 



202 

And morn and evening careful prys 

To see the budding rumps arise. 

With patient care, a month or more, 

He duly watch'd his buried store, 

Hope glitter'd in his longing eye, 

And expectation still ran high. 

One morn, one early morn in May, 

Sir Toby rises with the day ; 

The mists along the common pass, 

And hoary frosts still gem the grass ; 

Sir Toby snuffs the passing gale, 

And fresher hopes of beef prevail ; 

Each zephyr, to his nostrils keen, 

Is redolent of fat and lean ! 

Once more his eyes explore the sod, 
And, strange to tell ! beneath a clod 

Two small black horns arrest his sight ! 
He starts, he trembles with delight : 
Then calls his Lady, <e Haste my dear, 
Gc They come, the horns, the horns appear ! 
" The horns are in my garden growing ! 
*' We soon shall hear the oxen lowing ! 
" O bliss unsought ? unhop'd for joys ! 
" I wish'd but rumps, and oxen rise !" 

My Lady ran, and eager gaz'd 
At once delighted and amaz'd, 






a « 







203 

" Indeed my dear" she cries " 'tis true^ 

" I see the horns as well as you : 

u Lord how they shoot ! here Peter, Peter 5 

" Come see this wond'rous living creier? 

" This growing ox I" With humble air 

Poor Peter came and took a stare, 

Then scratch'd his ear, then rubb'd his head, 

And look'd abash'd, yet smiling said 

" Your honor's hopes I fear will fail, 

" For, bless your honor, that's a snail" 



EXTEMPORE SIMILE, 

And then I mark'd, or ever the white foam 
Could follow from the shore the refluent wave 
Another surge came on, and drove it back 
With added force, and whiten'd all the strand : 
And thus, I said, in the flood tide of youth 
Impetuous passions urge each other on : 
But there will come an ebb, and these wild thoughts, 
If they, in act, have not o'erpast the bounds 
Of reason, and of virtue, shall return 
With calmer current back, 



204 



TAL1ESSIN — a welch legend. 

Part the First. 
Loud was the tempest, dark the hour, 

Wild rush'd the furious blast ; 
Caer Wyddno's turrets own'd its pow'r, 

And trembled as it past. 

Deep groans came mingling with the storm ; 

Strange shrieks each heart dismay'd, 
And airy sprites, of hideous form, 

'Mid forky light'nings play'd. 

Caridwen trac'd the magic round, 

Deep in this murky cell, 
And utter'd words of horrid sound, 

And fram'd a potent spell. 

The cauldron boils ; the chemic blaze 
Blue through the vault aspires : 

The Sorc'rer eyes, with gladden'd gaze, 
His mischief-working fires. 



205 

*' Now haste, my demons haste/' he cries, 

" To Badrig's hall repair ; 
u There, on a leathern couch he lies, 

" The blooming infant fair: 

" The blooming infant, fair and young, 

sr Who, as old Seers foretel, 
" Shall strike the harp to sacred song, 

" And shake the pow'rs of hell. 

" But weak their foresight, vain their boast ! 

<{ My spells have gain'd the day : 
" The wave that washes Gwaelod's coast, 

" Shall wash his life away. 

" From Badrig's hall the infant bear 

" Now all are hush'd in sleep: 
" Clos'd in his nurse's eye of care ; 

" Haste, plunge him in the deep !" 

To Badrig's hall the Demons wild 

Obedient wing'd their way, 
And bore, unseen, the slumbering child 

Upon his couch away. 

A league or more from Gwyddno's ford 
They plung'd him in the deep : 

Then back return'd to tell their lord, 
His fears might safely sleep. 



206 

His dark brow rose; his eye of fire, 
With joy malignant burn'd : 

(i Tis done I" he cried, and Demons dire 
The thrilling shout return'd. 

The pitying waters through the storm 

Their lovely burthen bear, 
And gently waft his infant form 

Secure to Gwyddno's weir. . 

To view the weir at break of day 

The princely Elphin hies ; 
The fisher's toil, the fisher's prey, 

His daily food supplies. 

From royal lineage Elphin came, 

To gentle manners train'd : 
But courtly arts, and flatt'ry's claim 

His nobler soul disdain 'd. 

The leathern couch, the infant fair 
He views with startled eyes : 

" Does this reward my daily care ? 
" Is this my hop'd-for prize ?" 

The infant smil'd : the youth drew near, 

Mild pity woke the sigh : 
Yet disappointment's chilly fear, 

Stood trembling in his eye. 



207 

Soft music stole the waves along, 

Sweet voices fill'd the air. 
And thus, a more than mortal song 

Sooth'd Elphin's anxious care. 

ELPHIN'S CONSOLATION, 
AN ODE OF TALIESSIN'S. 

Elphin fair, of noble form, 
Yield not thou to passions' storms 
What avails repining care ? 
Does fortune wait upon despair ? 
More blessings are in store for thee, 
Than thy short feeble glance can see. 

When Cynllo breath'd his pious soul 

In fervent orisons to heav'n, 
God bade assenting thunders roll, 

Nor will he break his promise giv'n. 
Never yet did Gwyddno's weir 
Such hope of prosp'rous fortune bear. 
Elphin^ drive those fears away 
Like mists before the star of day : 
Melancholy will destroy 
And blast thy op'ning buds of joy. 
Forbear thy fortune to despise ; 
Regret will ne'er enhance the prize : 



208 

Nor doubt thy great Creator's pow'r, 

Tho' small my frame, my strength confin'd, 
Fate smil'd upon my natal hour, 

And heav'n's best gifts endow my mind. 
From mountains high, and distant shores, 

Where'er wide ocean spreads his flood, 
From deepest streams, the Godhead pours 

His blessings on the wise and good ! 

Elphin, in whose noble heart 
Each lovely virtue claims a part, 
Banish all unmanly fear ; 
Restrain the pensive starting tear ; 
Trust in the pow'r that rules our doom, 
Nor sink in dreatl of ills to come. 

Though small, and slender, on the shore 
Where foaming surges daily roar 
'Tis mine to cheer the hour of woe, 

To chase despair, disease, and pain; 
My pow'r more blessings shall bestow 

Than all the treasures of the main. 

Elphin, with the noble mind, 
Be still to fates decrees resign'd : 
Though feeble on my leathern bed, 
Prophetic virtues round me spread: 



209 

While I thy friendly guest remain, 
No harm shall come thy dwelling near, 

Thy foes attempts shall all be vain, 
And thou secure from ev'ry fear : 

Thy vows, thy prayers to heav'n address, 

And heav'n thy fervent prayers will bless, 

TALIESSIN— a welch legend. 
Part the Second. 
Sooth'd by the lay, sweet Elphin smil'd 

Upon his infant care ; 
And Taliessin nam'd the child, 
And kiss'd his forehead fair. 

Then home the lovely babe he took, 

And call'd his gentle bride, 
Eva the fair, whose winning look 

Could smoothe the brow of pride : 

Whose happy spirits spread delight 

Around their lowly lot ; 
Whose mind, in ev'ry virtue bright, 

Beam'd splendor from a cot. 

She nurs'd the babe with tend'rest \o\e, 

Upon her bosom meek : 
She taught his infant feet to move, 

His infant tongue to speak. 



210 

Pie grew in strength, in virtue grew, 
Shar'd Elphin's toilsome hour, 

And train'd each plant of varied hue, 
To blow round Eva's bow'r. 

With forceful hand, with magic skill, 
He sweeps the wild harp's strings, 

And echo from her rocky cell, 
Responsive numbers sings. 

The Poet's sweetness, Prophet's fire, 

To grace the song combine ; 
Sublimity and sense inspire 

And fill the nervous line. 

And now the joyous time drew near 
When pomp, and festive sport. 

With princely trains, and princely cheer, 
Adorn'd proud Maelgwyn's court. 

Among the rest young Elphin came, 

To Cymri's princes dear, 
His royal Sire, well known to fame, 

Was Gwyddno Goronhir.* 

No steed had he, no chariot's pride, 

One little page alone, 
Mild Taliessin by his side, 

In artless beauty shone. 

* King of Cantre y Gwalod. 



211 

The ringlets of his golden hair 

Loose in the breezes play'd, 
Luxuriant o'er his forehead fair, 

And rosy cheek they stray'd : 

His graceful form, his tender age, 

Attracted ev'ry eye, 
And all admir'd prince Elphin's page i 

All prais'd the beauteous boy. 

The royal Bards, a sacred train, 
High deeds of triumph sang ; 

In choral pomp ; the festal strain 
Through all the palace rang ! 

Then Heinyn came, a Bard renown'd 

For far surpassing lays, 
Triumphant wreaths his temples crown'd, 

And spoke his matchless praise ! 

He sang of arms, till courage nr'd 

The sympathizing throng ! 
Each glowing eye the theme admir'd ; 

Each voice approv'd the song. 

Then Elphin rose and graceful bow'd, 
" A boon," he cried, " my King: 

" Let this young stranger be allow'd 
" To strike the tuneful string." 



212 

Th' assenting Monarch kindly smil'd, 
And bade the youth draw near, 

Pleas'd to behold the blushing child, 
And pleas'd his skill to hear. 

With rapid hand, with Poet's fire, 

He swept the chords along, 
And woke the undulating wire 

To all the grace of song. 

Amazement gleams in ev'ry eye, 
Th' astonish'd Bards turn pale ! 

And fear, and hope, and grief, and joy, 
By turns each heart assail ! 

He lulls the strings with soft'ning hand ; 

Sweet fade the notes away : 
Yet still the crouds attentive stand, 

Still seem to hear the lay. 

A silver wreath the King unbound 

That on his forehead shone, 
And pleas'd the lovely stranger crown'd, 

And plac'd him near the throne. 

Loud shouts approve the Monarch's choice ; 

The courtiers round him throng, 
And ev'ry heart, and ev'ry voice, 

Proclaims him prince of song ! 



213 

Now pleasure crowns the festive board ; 

Gay smiles each face adorn : 
The sparkling mead profusely pour'd 

Fills high the Hirlas horn. 

And as the jocund riot grew, 1 

Each prais'd his favorite fair ; 
The graceful form, the roseate hue, 

Bright eye, or flowing hair. 

To Elphin's cheek the glow of pride 

In mantling blushes rose : 
" I would each am'rous prince," he cried, 

" A better theme had chose ?" 

" Ye talk in vain of shape or air ; 

ef No palace yet was grac'd 
" With any Dame like Eva fair, 

" With one like Eva chaste I" 

111 pleas'd this boast a Monarch's ear : 

He rose, and sternly frown'd, 
(i What vaunt is this?" he cried, "forbear! 

" The truth shall soon be found! 

" The gallant Rhun, our princely heir, 

%i Shall to thy dwelling haste, 
" To prove if Eva be so fair ! 

t( If Eva be so chaste ! 



214 

,f Mean -while immur'd in Hardlech's tow'r ; 

" Thyself, a prey to fear, 
" Shall rue this insult to our pow'r 

" With many a bitter tear." 

All blame the King ; and Elphin's woes 
Each heart would fain assuage : 

But none the mandate dar'd oppose, 
Or brave the Monarch's rage. 



TALIESSIN — a welsh legend. 
Part the Third. 
Now sighs resound through Hardlech's tow'r, 

From Gwyddno's sorrowing heir, 
And Rhun prepares to seek the bow'r 
Of Eva chaste and fair. 

He, anxious, waits the break of day, 

But e'er that day began, 
Led by the moon's propitious ray, 

Young Taliessin ran : 

Nor frowning rock, nor tangled wood, 

Could stop his rapid course ; 
He leap'd the rock, he swam the flood, 

And stemm'd the torrent's force. 



215 

At morn he reach'd the happy vale, 

The cottage lov'd so well I 
Exhausted, breathless, faint and pale. 

At Eva's feet he fell, 

And told the beauteous trembling Dame 

That danger hover'd near : 
But vow'd to guard her spotless fame 

And strove her mind to cheer. 

<( Nor doubt," said he/' your foundling's skill, 
" Nor think your child too young : 

" For heaven, by me proclaims its will; 
" And heaven inspires my tongue. 

" Bring forth the habit rich and fair, 

u The costly girdle gay, 
u The signet ring, and jewels rare 

" That grac'd your bridal day : 

" This gay attire, these jewels rare, 

" On homely Edith place, 
" And braid with gems her coal-black hair, 

" And paint her wither'd face. 

" And bid her, with a courteous smile, 

" Receive the princely guest ; 
" With Eva's name his ear beguile ; 

" And wooe him to the feast. — 



216 

" No mischief Edith shall betide, 
" Her form contempt may move, 

" And while he laughs at Elphin's bride, 
" He will not think of love. 

" But you must face the midnight air, 
" Must cross the hill and plain, 

" With me to Cymri's court repair, 
" And there conceal'd remain. 

u Till fate shall mark the hour to prove 
" How just your husband's boast ! 

" Your form how fair, how true your love 
" And Rhun's proud triumph lost." 

The setting sun had ting'd with red 

The vapours of the west, 
When Eva from the cottage fled, 

And Edith met her guest. 

She led him to the plenteous board, 

To state and splendor new, 
The rich Metheglin gaily pour'd, 

As gaily pledg'd him too. 

The prince with scorn and wonder ey'd 
The flaunting homely Dame ! 

And oft he laugh'd at Elphin's pride, 
That gave such charms to fame. 



217 

Yet still his conquest would he prove, 

Still to his father bear 
Some token of successful love, 

Some favor from the fair. 

A drowsy potion in the draught 

He mix'd in sportive guise ; 
The bev'rage Edith thoughtless quaff 'd P 

And slumber seal'd her eyes. — 

Her hair, as black as raven's wing, 

He from her temples shore, 
With jewels deck'd, and seiz'd the ring 

That Elphin's signet bore. 

To court triumphantly he came, 

Conven'd the flatt'ring crowd, 
His triumph eager to proclaim, 

To boast his conquest proud. 

From Hardlech's tower was Elphin brought 

His luckless fate to learn, 
And Rhun's proud eyes with mock'ry fraught, 

On him exulting turn. 

" Behold this ring !" he laughing, cried; 

" Behold these jewels rare ! 
u A gift of love from Elphin's brido ; 

" Behold her raven hair !" 



218 

Prince Elphin answer' d, " Yes, I know 
" That ring, those jewels, well ; 

" But ne'er, on Eva's polish'd brow, 
" Those sooty tresses fell : 

Ci Her hair is like a sun-beam bright 
" That gilds the brow of morn ! 

" These squalid locks offend the sight, 
" And wake disgust and scorn ! 

" I would my Eva's self were here 
" To prove thy boasting vain ! 

" For well I know her fame is clear, 
" Her truth exempt from stain." 

Scarce had he spoke, when to his arms, 

A peerless fair one flew ; 
A rising blush improv'd her charms 

With modest virtue's hue. 

In shining waves, her auburn hair 
Loose flow'd with artless grace, 

A veil to hide her bosom fair, 
And shade her glowing face. 

The lovely page attendant came, 
All knew the blooming boy, 

And hail'd the fair transcendant Dame 
With loud acclaims of joy. 



219 

Prince Rhun, abash'd, confess'd the cheat 
That mock'd his boast with shame, 

And Elphin's triumph now compleat 
In Eva's charms and fame ! 

The King and all the court combin'd 

To praise the lovely youth, 
Whose conduct mark'd such pow'r of mind* 

Such gratitude and truth. 

Thenceforth his name was foremost found 

Of all the tuneful throng, 
And Cambria's mountains still resound 

With Taliessen's song, 



220 



SONNETS 

translated from the italian of petrarch, in 

laura's life-time. 

t( Per far una Leggiadra sua Vendetta." 

To strike with joy the keen avenging blow, 

And punish in one day each added crime, 
Love hid in ambush, takes his fatal bow, 

As one whose vengeance waits for place and time : 
My mental pow'rs around my heart entwin'd 

Thence strove to guard my bosom and my eyes ; 
But love already ev'ry force combin'd, 

And sure and swift the mortal arrow flies. 
Shook by the first assault, my courage dies ; 

Nor energy to me remains nor space : 
Tho' loud and stern, " to arms!" occasion cries, 

Or bids me hasten from the dang'rous place. 
Alas ! no prudent safe retreat I find, 
No aid, no refuge, for my tortur'd mind. 



221 



* JEra7 gzorno c&W Sol si scoloraro." 

On that sad day, when from his Maker's woes, 

The sun his horror-darken'd rays withdrew, 
My heart, by sadness hush'd into repose, 

Thoughtless of danger was ensnar'd by you ; 
No time it seem'd defences to renew 

'Gainst mighty love, I dreaded not his art, 
And as the gen'ral grief around me grew 

My rising sorrows claim'd their fatal part. 
Love found me quite unarm'd, and to my heart 

An open passage thro' my tear-spent eyes. 
Inglorious he, to speed his sharpest dart 

At me, and win so poor, so mean a prize! 
And not for you, my fair, his terrors show, 
Nor bend at your defended breast his bow ! 



222 



u Lassare il Veto o per Sole o per Ombra" 

Beneath the scorching sun, or cooling shade, 
My fair, you still that envious veil retain, 
Though well you know my longing eyes would 
fain 
With eager glance its dark'ning gloom pervade. 
While my fond love forbearing to complain, 
Within my anxious bosom hidden lay, 
Soft pity o'er your dimpled cheek would stray, 
And tender smiles reward my silent pain : 
But soon as love that painful silence broke, 
You veil'd your shining tresses from my view, 
And ev'ry look of love and hope withdrew ; 
That much I rue the hour my passion spoke : 
Since still, tho' clouds or sunshine rule the skies, 
That chilling veil obscures your radiant eyes, 



t%% 



6t lo trie rivolgo in dietro a ciascun Passo." 

At ev'ry step I pause and look behind, 

My wearied limbs and sinking spirits fail, 
I wooe each breeze refreshing airs to find, 

And " ah ! I faint:" replies each passing gale* 
Then, thinking on delights I needs must leave, 

My journey long, my life's uncertain bound, 
I cease in noisy childish plaints to grieve. 

And cast my tearful eyes upon the ground. 
When straight a dreadful doubt assails my breast, 

And " how exist ?" with horror I exclaim, 
" When here that vital spark must ever rest, 

" That cheers my heart and animates my frame," 
But Cupid answers, f ' know'st thou not the pow'r, 

<f To Lovers granted by almighty Jove, 
ee To live in separation's awful hour 

" Far from their soul, the object of their love?" 



*>4 



u Soti Animali al Mondo di si altera Vista.'' 

Eye nature's various works ; some creatures bear 

To gaze upon the fervid noontide ray ; 
And others fearing garish day-light's glare 

Love the cool soften'd shades of twilight grey ; 
Others with idle joy and hope presume 

To sport in flames because they gaily shine ; 
But soon they find those flames their life consume ; 

Their fate alas ! too much resembles mine. 
Too weak of vision to support the light 

Of her clear eyes, irresolute to go 
Where darker scenes might soothe my aching sight 

And bid the dazzling tear-drops cease to flow 
Methinks stern fate compels my steps to turn 
Where scorching fires my trembling heart-strings burn» 



225 



AFTER LAURA'S DEATH. 

<e Valle, che de lamenti miei se piena" 

Ye echoing vales that gave me sigh for sigh, 

Calm stream* that oft; has caught my falling tear, 
Beneath whose green bank glides the scaly fry, 

Ye warbling birds, ye lightly bounding deer, 
Soft air, where love once breath'd serene and warm, 

Remember'd haunts, how gloomy now and drear! 
Ye verdant hills, no more my soul you charm, 

Though love still leads my wonted footsteps here. 
In you I recognize each well-known form ; 

But no accustom'd pleasure on my breast 
Darts the pure ray ; affliction pours her storm, 

And sorrow's clouds upon my bosom rest. 
Here oft I gaz'd on that enchanting face : 

And here, in mournful search, I turn my eyes, 
If haply in these scenes my soul may trace, 

Where cold in death my beauteous Laura lies. 



&16 



" Zefiro torna, e'l bel tempo ramena." 

Zephyr returns and with him gaily brings 
His smiling family of plants and flow'rs, 
Swift Progne screams, sweet Philomela sings, 

And spring with vermeil blossoms decks herbow'rs; 
Thro' laughing meads and skies serenely fair, 

Jove on his lovely daughter gaily smiles ; 
Love fills the earth, the sea, and ambient air, 

And ev'ry youthful breast of care beguiles. 
To my lost heart does grief alone return, 

And glooms and horrors on my steps attend : 
Cease, glimm'ring lamp of life, O ! cease to burn ! 

And let my last faint sigh to heav'n ascend. 
For ah! on me sweet nature smiles in vain, 

In vain each roseate grace does beauty wear, 
Nor bird's sweet music, nor the flow'ry plain, 

Can soothe this bosom desolate and drear. 



227 



" Sento I Aura antica ; e i dolci colli.'* 

I feel ye, well-known breezes ; fair ye rise 

To view delightful hills, with verdure crown'd, 
Where beam'd that radiant light that blest my eyes 

E'er sorrow lour'd, and fate relentless frown'd ! 
Oh! fading hopes ! oh! foolish thoughts unblest ! 

Widow'd the verdure, turbid is the wave, 
And cold and void her melancholy nest, 

Where once I liv'd, where now I seek a grave ; 
Where my sad heart relief would gladly find 

From cruel tortures and incessant fires, 
That tear my bosom and consume my mind ; 

All thoughts of rest are vain and weak desires ; 
For, though my tyrant's eyes no longer burn, 
My fond tears fall regretful on her urn. 



228 



EPISTLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY, 1802. 

ADDRESSED TO W, R. RuSSELL, ESQ. 

Behold the lines to greet the welcome day : 
I call no muse to aid the promis'd lay, 
Content if, in the unaffected line, 
Simplicity and truth their pow'rs combine ; 
If void of ornament, the verse impart 
Thoughts that convince the mind or touch the heart : 
If these be mine I make my best appeal 
To those whose minds can judge, whose hearts can 
feel. 

When, struggling with a host of pagan foes, 
The Christian faith, in native triumph, rose, 
Its early vot'ries, zealous, pure and warm, 
Believ'd no evil where they felt no harm ; 
Nor deem'd it rash to join with holy truth 
The fond enthusiastic dreams of youth : 
Hence rose this welcome morning's annual choice, 
To guard some fav'rite from the snares of vice, 
When the young Valentine, unaw'd reprov'd 
The faults or foibles of the maid he lov'd : 



229 

While, she attentive, lent a willing ear 

To counsels which her heart proclaim'd sincere, 

And urg'd persuasively each kind behest 

That cherish'd virtue in her lover's breast. 

Vain were the hope that custom to renew ; 

For times are chang'd, and with them manners too: 

Rudeness and spite assume, with ready wile, 

Sincerity's plain garb and plainer style, 

Int'rest and flatt'ry for affection pass, 

While vanity presents her fav'ring glass, 

Where fair perfection's visions meet the gaze, 

And all the lover's duty is to praise ! 

Yet think not that I call their part unwise, 

Or censure, more than panegyric, prize : 

Weigh'd in reflection's balance, well we deem 

A like unjust, unworthy, each extreme. 

The fulsome compliment, the polish'd lie ; 
The praise for mortal merit far too high, 
The round of raptures in trim order strung 
That roll so glibly from the Coxcomb's tongue, 
The senseless indiscriminate applause, 
That loud in ev'ry sanction'd folly's cause, 
By epithets unmeaning tries to shine. 
Of lovely ! charming ! elegant ! divine ! 
The modest fair one will disclaim, and shun, 
Nor court the praise she feels not fairly won. 



230 

Yet oft affection, prejudic'd and blind 
Shall in its object each perfection find ; 
And thus unknowingly, the honest breast 
May idly glare in flatt'ry's gaudy vest : 
Nor can the heart entirely disapprove 
The fond mistakes that mark excess of love, 
Yet still a temper'd praise, a just regard 
Will win esteem its dearest best reward. 

When censure, rolling her malignant eyes, 
Marks ev'ry fault, and all of worth denies ; 
Tho' truth be forc'd to own her satire just 
Benevolence repels it with disgust: 
Meek merit seeks not others faults to hear, 
And only envy gives a willing ear, 
And even she, distrustful and perplext, 
Fears her own failings may be glanc'd at next. 
Yet malice points not always satire's dart, 
Nor aims it always at the guiltless heart, 
Oft keen discernment sees the shaft supplied 
By poignant sense of wrong, or wounded pride ; 
Yet thus allow'd her fairest garb to wear, 
No feeling bosom e'er holds censure dear, 
No honest heart is open to receive her, 
At best, we can but pity and forgive her! 
Come then, blest candor ! let the task be thine 
To guide the conduct of the Valentine: 



231 

"Tis thine to praise where virtue claims respect ; 
With tender caution mark and mend defect, 
To place each action in its fairest light, 
And still, where doubtful, deem the motive right 
So shall the heart that owns thy guidance prove 
The truest friendship, and the fondest love. 



And, gentle candor ! when these lines appeal 
To Russell's eyes, be thou, attentive, near ; 
Smile on the lay and teach him to opine 
That truth and merit grace his Valentine, 



232 



PROLOGUE TO AN OCCASIONAL AFTERPIECE 

ENTITLED 

" MESSMATES, BEAR A HAND. ' 
Performed at the Theatre Royal, Liverpool in 1 789 or 90. 

Messmates, holla ! d'ye ask " what cheer to-night ?** 

Why faith, my lads, our vessel's trim and tight, 

Our sails are set and merrily we ride, 

Well rigg d, well mann'd, o'er humour's flowing tide 

From useless louugers see, our deck * is clear, 

Above, below, a smiling crew appear, 

All ready, at good nature's kind command, 

In wonted plaudits still to bear a hand. 

How wears the watch ? 'faith ! I do not know : 

But sure 'tis time to hail our friends below ; t 
Close, in the forecastle, and snug you sit 

Well plac'd as Mates and Officers of wit, 

But candor steers, and, if I judge aright, 

You cheerly too will bear a hand to-night. 

* To the Boxes. + To the Pitt. 



233 

In gallant trim our topmasts all appear, * 
What, ho ! my lads aloft, how goes it there ? 
You've so much mirth, and laugh, and heart about ye 
We in the cabin ne'er could do without ye, 
There's Tom, and Jack, and Will, all lads of spirit, 
Are ever glad to bear a hand to merit ! 

Our little bark for safety now depends 
On the united guidance of our friends; 
W T el1 pleas'd we all submit to your command : 
Be kind then, and like Messmates bear a hand. 



THE ROOK'S NEST— a fable, 
Addressed to Miss Sarah Bolland, 

To you, my love, whose heart untried, 
A Mother's fondness deigns to guide, 
Who in the daily lesson find 
Her cares employ'd to form your mind, 
Let this untutor'd rhyme suggest 
What useful quality may best 
That Mother's tender cares reward, 
And place you high in her regard , 



To the Gallery. 
R 



234 

Nor be discouraged though you find 
Your task not always to your mind : 
Still persevere,— you'll soon be able 
To write as well as read a fable. 

Affection you may deem your part ; 

That springs spontaneous from the heart: 

And should you love scarce any other, 

You cannot chuse but love your Mother ! 

Yet still a quality remains, 

May, to your profit, turn her pains, 

Tune all her nerves to joy's soft movement, 

And make her blest in your improvement : 

This quality, — now lend your ear 

Is, — assiduity, my dear. 

When gentle airs and vernal gales 
Unbound the frost and cheer'd the vales. 
Two harmless Rooks, a constant pair, 
Attentive to domestic care, 
Perch'd on a lofty plane tree's height 
To build their cradle of delight, 
Where pliant boughs, in aether hung, 
Should lightly rock their callow young, 
And well they fix'd their pleasing toil, 
Beyond the reach of man to spoil. 



235 

Yet kept his social haunts in view 
To guard them from the felon crew, 
Of kites and hawks, a savage brood, 
Who live by carnage, theft and blood. 

Now, ceaseless, on the busy wing, 
Sticks, weeds, and straws, the couple bring, 
Hope flutters in each anxious breast, 
And pleas'd they view the growing nest. 

It chanc'd, one day, an idle pair 

Of neighb'ring Rooks observ'd their care, 

But not with emulation fli'd 

Copied the tenement admir'd, 

They watch'd the hour when, out of sight 

The pair industrious wing'd their flight, 

And boldly seiz'd with lawless spoil 

The mansion rear'd by virtuous toil. 

The faithful partners soon return'd ; 
Their breasts with indignation burn'd ; 
They call'd the spoilers to the plain, 
They reason'd, threaten'd, call'd in vain : 
Then force to force oppos'd, they strove 
The bold invaders to remove. 
The air resounds with jarring caws ; 
Clatter their wings, their beaks, their claws ; 



236 

As this attacks; as that defends, 

The shiveVd nest beneath them bends : 

The miscreants, with malignant joy, 

The good they cannot hold, destroy ; 

In fragments scatter'd wide around, 

Sticks, reeds, and straws, bestrew the ground; 

At length the spoilers met their doom : — 

Our pair the task of love resume. 

At eve the ruin'd nest I view'd, 
And sigh'd in meditative mood. 
Next morn repair'd the fabric grew, 
Iruprov'd in strength, and beauty too ; 
A few days more beheld the pair 
Complete this object of their care, 
And ev'ry breeze that fann'd the grove 
Rock'd the soft cradle of their love. 

Who has not seen the wint'ry storm, 
The op'ning buds of March deform ? 
Who has not seen the hail-charg'd blast 
Scatter the blossoms as it past ? 
They who have sigh'd to view the flow'r 
Wither beneath the icy shower, 
Perchance had scarce restrain'd the tear 
As grew the storm, and chill and drear 






237 

The bleak wind rose, and loud and hoarse 
Swept the fierce blast with furious force, 
As on the raging whirlwind prest 
And hurPd to earth the finish'd nest : 
Once more in fragments scatter'd round, 
Sticks, reeds, and straws, bestrew the ground. 

What heart not weens that deep despair 
Now seiz'd the helpless shiv'ring pair ? 
In silence on the bending bough, 
Rock'd by the tempest to and fro ; 
All day they sate, and view'd the storm 
The mansion of their hopes deform, 
And as the blasts, at close of day, 
In hoarse low murmurs died away, 
Sad, yet resign'd, they heav'd a sigh, 
And rais'd to heav'n th' miploring eye. 
That pow'r whose slightest glance surveys 
The wide creation's wond'rous maze, 
Whose cares his meanest creatures share, 
Observ'd their look, receiv'd its pray'r. 

As rose the dewy morning mild, 
Hope in the cheering sunbeam smil'd ; 
Our Rooks with fond assiduous care 
The wreck of yesterday repair : 



By ceaseless toils again they rear 
The nest that ceaseless toils endear i 
Warm grows the gale, serene the sky, 
No howling storm sweeps rudely bye ; 
A lovely offspring round them rise 
To bless them with parental joys ; 
While oft they smile at sorrows past, 
And tell their tale to prove, at last, 
That industry may bliss create, 
And perseverance conquer fate. 



239 



SONNETS OF LAURA. 

Lately disovered in a Casket enclosed in a Tomb at 

Avignon, supposed to be that of Vetrarch's Laura, 

and now first translated into English, 
REPROACH. 
Ah ! little cause has Petrarch to complain, 

Since thus he boasts his wound, thus vaunts the 
smart, 
While Laura struggles to conceal the pain 

Deriv'd from silence and a bursting heart : 
For dear she holds the Poet and his lay : 

But this avowal meets no human ear, 
Nor shall the conscious eye of tell-tale day 

Behold her shed the unavailing tear. 
For this, with watchful and incessant care 

She tries each varied art, each strange disguise 
While cold indiff'rence marks her studied air, 

Smiles on her cheek, and lords it o'er her sighs. 
The world shall sympathize with Petrarch's woe, 
While night and silence only Laura's know. 



240 



THE VEIL, 

What weak remonstrance !-— how I joy to find 

The well invented fraud thy faith deceive ! 
The Veil that shades the face obscures the mind. 

And love is ever fearful to believe ; 
Else had my chearful and unguarded smile, 

The pleasure that I felt when you were nigh, 
The welcome gay, the look devoid of guile, 

The tear of rapture springing to my eye, 
Told a fond tale that you should never learn, 

Of fears I would not for the world reveal, 
Of hopes I almost tremble to discern ; 

Of bliss my heart would from itself conceal. 
Come, blessed Veil ! thy friendly aid I claim,, 
Guard of my pride, my honor, and my fame. 



241 



ABSENCE. 

What boots it that thy steps to distant shores 

In search of quiet or oblivion stray, 
While here thy verse enthusiastic pours, 

While ev'ry morn presents the wonted lay ? 
'Twas not the beauty of thy manly form, 

'Twas not the lustre of thy sparkling eye, 
That bade my heart to fond affection warm, 

That in my tranquil bosom woke the sigh : 
No, 'twas that rich and ever varying mind, 

With ev'ry just and gen'rous feeling fraught, 
That ardent love, by sentiment refin'd, 

That spoke in ev'ry look, and ev'ry thought. 
Then while I view these graces in thy strain, 
Vain is thy journey, and its distance vain. 



242 



FRAGMENT OF AN IRREGULAR ODE, 

Addressed to Peter Pindar } Esq. 

IN HIS OWN STYLE. 

How I delight to hear thy humble songs, 
To which no arrogance, no pride belongs, 

Thy simple strains, O most melodious Peter, 
The world with wonder reads thy recent lay 
To Hannah More, and all, approving, say, 

Thou hast been very modest in thy metre. 

Alas ! at merit thou dost never cast 

The venom'd shaft that makes her shrink aghast ; 

Thy verses all are innocent and blameless : 
No immorality dost thou defend, 
Not e'en the harlot's impudence befriend, 

Who flaunting roams the streets with forehead 
shameless ! 

Some people say thou art a very brute, 

A libertine, a coward, and a sot, 
That even with thy God thou would'st dispute, 

Each pious lesson of thy youth forgot : 



243 

^iuch do I pity these mistaken folk ; 

Lo, how erroneous is their horrid notion ! 
The friends who know thee swear, without a joke, 

Thy virtues only equal thy devotion ! 

Nay, blush not, gentle Peter ! at thy praises, 

Nor cast thine eyes in timid silence down : 
Thy modesty our estimation raises, 

That modesty to all the world well known. 
Jamaica ever must thy worth approve, 

Her negroes still a pious pastor found thee, 
While n egresses aspir'd to share thy love, 

And tawny Pickaninies blossom'd round thee, 
Alas ! how fallen is our Poet's taste ! 

The song that prais'd their sable hue, O shocking I 
From black to blue degraded and debas'd, 
Makes hopeless love to Hannah More's blue stock- 
ing. 

'' Make love !" methinks I hear th e Poet say, 
"Such thoughtless conduct only could amuse her; 

" Satire and malice animate the lay : — 

" D — n Jove, I have done nothing but abuse her." 

O cunning Peter ! praise your thought too common : 

Abuse most surely wins a flatter'd woman. 



244 



LINES 

Intended to be addressed to a haughty Beauty of the 
name of Catharine, hy a Gentleman for whom she 
had made two Watch Chains. 

Imperial Cath'rine o'er the north 

Late rul'd with iron rod, 
While subjects trembled at her frow n, 

And watch'd her awful nod. 

But here, with more despotic sway, 

Her haughty namesake reigns, 
And loads an unoffending slave 

At once with double chains. 

My heart, submissive to her will, 

Nor murmurs or complains ; 
I rather wooe the tyrant fair 

To keep me still in chains. 

How blest those talents, blest those charms 

That make e'en beauty dear ! 
And doubly blest the man decreed 

Her chains through life to wear ! 



245 



SLEEP ON DEAR MAID.— a ballad. 

Sleep on, dear Maid ! and may the balm 
Of tranquil rest thy fears remove, 

Thy agitated spirits calm, 
And give thee back to life and love. 

Each early morn, on heath and moor, 
O'er dew'y flow'rs thy footsteps flew, 

To gain, at noon, the rocky shore 

Where William breath'd his fond adieu. 

And thou did'st hope to greet the sail 
That sped thy lover o'er the wave ; 

But rumour, with a faithless tale, 
Consign'd him to a wat'ry grave. 



Then horror fix'd thy sinking eye ; 

Then from thy cheek the roses fled ; 
No tear reliev'd the bursting sigh, 

Thy ev'ry hope with William dead. 



246 

Long has he trac'd thy wand'ring day, 
And mournful watch'd thy sleepless night. 

At length the sun's returning ray 
Beams on his hopes celestial light. 

Sleep on, my love ; the noontide hour 
Thy health, thy peace, restor'd shall see. 

Shall give thee back to reason's pow'r, 
Shall give thee safe to love and me. 



ENGLAND. 

Trdnslatedfrom the French of Marquis de Fleury. 

Yes, gen'rous land I felt thine aid 

My peaceful days restore, 
Yet spite of all my blessings stray *d, 

A stranger on thy shore ; 
But since upon thy bounteous breast, 
I see my exil'd Monarch rest, 

My thoughts no longer roam ; 
Hail, sacred land that guards my King, 
To thee my heart's affections spring, 

And thou art all my home. 



247 

# 

THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR. 

O ! listen to the pealing bells! 

The lengthen'd shout of triumph swells, 

And loud the thund'ring cannon tells 

A glorious Victory. 

But soft ; the shouts that rent the skies 
Are check'd by tears, are sunk in sighs ; 
Our great, our gallant Nelson dies !— 

Sad price of Victory ! 

Britannia hallows Nelson's name ; 
For well his death his life became, 
And, phcenix-like, he died in flame, 

The flame of Victory. 

As springs the phoenix from her nest, 
His deathless fame shall rise, and rest 
On ev'ry gallant seaman's breast 

The star of Victory. 

Still Britons, gen'rous, good, and brave, 
Shall guide our ensigns o'er the wave 
To crown afresh their Nelson's grave, 

With wreaths of Victory. 



248 



THE VOCAL FOREST, 
OR, A GROVE OF QUIBBLES. 

Addressed to a Friend. 

When the bramble the king of the forest was made,, 
He call'd the proud cedars to crouch in his shade : 
Since men, to confirm the base bramble's opinion, 
A being more worthless have rais'd to dominion, 
The bramble with scorn may an emperor scan, 
And, claiming pretensions to rule over man, 
To try his research may, with cunning suggestions, 
Like these put some anthropobotanic questions. 

What tree is the ugliest? — which the most rude ? 

Which best has the waves of the ocean withstood? 

WTiat tree will convey you most swiftly to London ? 

Which picture the state of a girl by love undone ? 

What tree wants but little of national favor? 

If Corinna were dying, and Oswald would save her, 

What tree would his wishes most probably name ? 

Which bears on its branches a mercantile aim ? 

Which wholly in Ireland composes a city ? 

For fraudulent debtors which burthens a ditty ? 



! 



249 

For burning Guy Fawkes in which serves the mob's 

turn ? 
And which by affusion of water will burn ? 
By extracting a liquid which claims consecration ? 
With time which keeps pace from the day of creation ? 
The tree that in age every other surpasses ? 
And that which is best for impounding of asses ? 
For reward and protection the favorite tree ? 
By nature which' form'd for receiving a fee? 
Which tree of all others, if trees could run races, 
For betting were least in the jockey-club's graces ? 
The tree most appropriate to lighten his way, 
Whose spouse's frail character shrinks from the day ? 
The trees that mankind are all turn'd to when dead ? 
What tree you imagine, when using its head, 
Could thus puzzle the trees, and in riddles in vol ve'em? 
'Tis the tree I esteem, and now call on to solve 'em. 



250 



THE APPARITION.— a fable. 
Translated from the German of Lessing. 

Deep in the well known forest's lone recess, 

Where oft I wont in fancy's frolic play, 
The converse of the sylvan herd to guess. 

Beside a lulling waterfall I lay : 
Attempting through ray simple tales to trace, 
Admir'd Fontaine ! thy light poetic grace. 
I meditated, ponder'd, chang'd my plan ; 
The toil-drops down my glowing forehead ran ; 
In vain, no inspiration hover'd o'er me : — 

My paper still unstain'd no line could shew ; 

Vex'd from the fruitless toil I sprang, when lo ! 
The muse herself stood suddenly before me ; 
And thus addrest me with a rosy smile. 

(c Disciple, why these pains, this thankless toil ? 
" The sweets of fable truth assumes at pleasure; 
° But why should fable steal the sweets of measure? 
" Would'st thou add fragrance to Arabia's gale ? 
u Suffice the poet to invent the tale : 



251 

" Leave style for duller history's grave narrators, 
" And airs profound for philosophic praters." 

Reply by vanishing the muse denies. — 

u She vanish'd, did she friend ?" the reader cries, 

" Did'st thou her monitory words believe, 

" Or seek with deeper cunning to deceive ? 

" And having ev'ry effort vainly tried x 

" The shallow sources of thy skill to hide, 

" Thus make thy muse take all the blame upon her ? 

" A very likely story on my honor !" 

Bravo ! my reader ; but we'll turn the table : 
No muse appear'd : I merely told a fable : 
Yourself impatient to the inference past, 
I'm not the first, nor shall I be the last ! 
To call his idle whims and fancies visions^ 
Sage oracles and godlike apparitions. 



25% 



ALAN AND EMMA, 

OR, 

THE SCULLS OF CALGARTH. 

The vesper bell had shook the tow'r ; 

Low gleam'd the taper's waning light, 
And from her ivy-curtain'd bow'r 

Discordant scream'd the bird of night. 

No star with silent progress told 
The hour, nor ray from planet clear: 

But clouds, in heavy volumes roll'd, 
Had darken'd all Winandermere. 

From bow'r and hall Sir Alan hies, 
In Calgarth's wood to meet his love ; 

" Forbear my Son ;" his Mother cries, 
" Nor tempt the gloom of yonder grove. 

" For there unhallowed wizards walk ; 

*' Pale murder oft has shrouded there, 
a Around her bloody spectres stalk, 

" And horrid shrieks astound the ear." 



253 

* :( O Mother ! idle fears like these 
" Are timid superstition's crew : 

** Me solitude and silence please; 

" The muse in midnight shades I wooe.' 8 

* c Would Alan thus my care deceive ? 

u Thus call the muse his mistress fair ? 
*' I saw Ernesto's daughter weave 

" The wreaths that binds thy raven hair. 

et O shame ! the Lord of these domains 
" To cringe and court a vassal's smile ! 

" The blood that flows in Alan's veins 
" Should scorn a stream so foul and vile. 

" Hold Mother; had I wealth as great 
" As eastern kings could proudly boast, 

Si Ernesto's child should share my state ; 
" Or wealth and pow'r to me were lost. 

" Or had I but the mountain cot 

" That greets the earliest ray of morn, 

" Her smiles should bless my scanty lot, 
" Her cares my cottage should adorn. 

" For she has innocence and truth, 
" Meek modesty to pomp unknown, 

" Each artless grace that waits on youth, 
" And sense might dignify a throne !" 



254 

" Then go ; rash youth !" the mother cried, 
u Fate hangs o'er thy devoted head :— 

" Be woe thy bliss, be grief thy bride, 
" And horrors deck thy nuptial bed. — " 

Then, pensive, to the grove he past, 
And heavy grew Sir Alan's soul, 

While fancied moanings swell'd the blast 
That o'er the sullen waters stole. 

Was that an oar's repeated stroke 

That dash'd the wave with pressure light I 
Or silver char that leaping broke 

The solemn stillness of the night ? 

Hist ! hist ! that softly murmur'd sound ? 

'Twas but the rushing blast that spread 
Sere autumn's falling leaves around, 

To form the cold worm's wint'ry bed. 

This was the spot, and this the tree, 
Where Emma vow'd to meet her love : 

Ah ! would the youth her form could see 
Or hear her footstep in the grove ! 

Through bushy glade or alley fair 

He roams, and " Emma, Emma," cries : 

Lone echo mocks the lover's care 
And " Emma, Emma, " oft replies. 



255 

Beneath a beech of spreading shade 
His weary limbs Sir Alan cast : 

Chill slumber on his eyelids weigh'd, 
And lock'd his wild'ring senses fast : 

And when this cold and death-like rest 
Had crept his troubled spirit o'er, 

A white dove flutter'd on his breast, 
Her downy bosom stain'd with gore 

By terror roused he wildly sprung, 
Upstarting from his humid bed ; 

The gore-drops on his bosom hung ; 
The trembling dove before him fled. 

His feet are bound in horror's spell ; 

His frozen pulse forgets to move ; 
Low wails the dove " farewell ! farewell, 

" Thy murder'd Emma- haunts the grove.' 

Her white form glitters in the glade ; 

She leaves a track of blood behind ; 
Her heavy groans in silence fade, 

Her sad sighs die upon the wind. 

With maniac step he homeward goes, 
And seeks his haughty mother's bow'r : 

To her no silence brings repose, 
No sleep to her the midnight hour, 



256 

" O speak ! " he cries, " some hope impart ; 

" Some flatt'ring tale at least relate : 
" Say, that my mother's hand and heart 

" Are innocent of Emma's fate." 

" Mine was the deed, that deed I vaunt, 
" That laid thy base-born Emma low : 

" A ruffian watch'd her evening haunt, 
" ImpeU'd by me to strike the blow." 

" Deep in the lake her body lies 

" And o'er it rolls the pathless tide : — * 

" Let Alan win a richer prize ; 
" Let Alan wooe a nobler bride." 

" I seek my Emma's nuptial bow'r : 

" Nought else remains of earthly good f 

Then, springing from the lofty tow'r, 
He plung'd impetuous in the flood. 

The sullen flood as if appaiPd 

Roll'd slowly back its foaming wave, 

And thrice on Emma's name he call'd ; 
Then sunk to Emma's wat'ry grave, 

And oft at deepest hour of night 

When moon-form'd shadows faintly fall, 

Sad Alan wooes his Emma's sprite 
In stately Calgarth's ancient hall i 



257 

And near his mother's fever'd bed 
Unnumber'd ghastly shapes appear ; 

Terrific spectres wildly tread, 
And scatter dreams of madness there, 

Oft shall the guide with hoary head 

Relate the tale of wonder o'er, 
And shudd'ring mark the lichens red 

And deem the pavement stain' d with gore ; 

Point where two whiten'd sculls appear 

In Calgarth's desolated hall, 
And whisp'ring with mysterious fear 

Shall Alan this, that Emma call. 

Tell how the story to disprove 

The Sceptic's hand would oft essays 

But ah ! how vain his skill to move 
From Calgarth's hall the sculls away ! 



15$ 



TO R. R HB KE, Esq. 

Who being at Lyons with a Friend of the name of 
Roach, addressed a piscatory Eclogue to him on 
his Birth Day, but omitted to Introduce the follow- 
ing Fishes. 

Dear Sir, 

As my eyes on your fishing lines fall, 
Such a fine draught of fish I see thronging, that all 
To encompass my retina's really too small. 

A dab we must ever pronounce you at writing ; 
And while you so swimmingly go on inditing, 
Sure none can suppose that your paper wants whiting. 

By some 'tis averr'd, but to carp I don't wish, 
That with roach to a gudgeon transform'd in the dish, 
At Lyons you made a fine kettle ofjish ! 

Till having exhausted your whole stock of dories. 
And finding torpedos in often told stories, 
Kind mem'ry imparted a ray of her glories. 



259 

ImpelPd to dear Britain, and ardently sighing wish, 
Then led to the sea which you crost like flying-fish* 
I'm sure at this rhyme I can fancy you crying pish ! 

You call me a lump, or a chub, for my fiction, 
While I, of my meekness to furnish conviction, 
Return you this holy-hut plain valediction. 

May the turtle you love in a Rush-brooke delight, 
And you, to explain the sole force of my spite, 
Still angle with gentles, and not meet a bite. 



ODE TO FOLLY. 

Hence, awful wisdom, hence ! 

Of awkward truth and poring science born ; 

In some lone cell forlorn, 
Nurs'd by pale study, poverty and sense. 

Go, seek the rustic dell 
Where long a hoary spire has sacred stood, 

Deep bosom'd in a wood ; 
There, sharing piety and learning's lot, 

In the sequester'd cot 
Of some contented Curate ever dwell. 



260 

But come thou goddess blythe and jolly I 

Haste thee hither frolic Folly ! 

When thy mother, young and fair, 

Vanity, with braided hair, 

Shew'd thee to the gazing croud 

Deck'd in gems, of baubles proud, 

Indolence thy father smil'd ; 

Half from his couch he strove to rise, 

And half unclos'd his heavy eyes, 

To view the honors offer'd to his child. 

Hither come, and with thee bring 
Nonsense light on painted wing, 
Ignorance that grins at worth, 
Laughter loud and causeless mirth, 
Fashion marching by thy side, 
Drest in all her boasted pride, 
Glitt'ring robes and waving plumes, 
Patches, painting and perfumes : 
To thine altar pleas' d and vain 
Swift she leads a willing train. 
Nurtur'd by thy fostering praise 
Borrow'd beauties round her blaze : 
Gay in these she scorns the maid 
Who, in simplest dress array'd, 
On her bashful cheek discloses 
Nature's lilies,, nature's roses ; 



261 

Gay in these, and idly blythe, 
Time she hopes to blunt thy scythe : 
Pleas'd on wither'd cheeks to spread 
Warren's white and Warren's red ; 
Wishing ever to be young 
Faded toasts around her throng ; 
She strikes a gay guitar, the tinkling strings 
Responsive vibrate as she smiling sings, 

" The god of love for vengeance arms 
And loudly calls on fashion's aid : 

Now shudder ye who mock'd the charms 
That beauty erst for you display'd." 

" Tremble, ye heretics, and fly, 

Lest some well poiz'd, new pointed dart, 

From mouse-skin eye-brow, or glass eye, 
Should glance on you and pierce your heart.' 

" Lest little wanton Cupid's straying, 
From rouge or pearl -box late set free, 

And 'raid factitious ringlets playing, 
Should rob you of your liberty." 

Hither, Folly, lightly run, 
With thy foster sister Fun ; 



262 

She whose tricks can joys impart 
Dear to many a Briton's heart ! 
Varying oft her voice and shape, 
Now a lion, now an ape, 
Now a roaring Russian bear, 
Now a mild romantic fair : 
Oft she gently glides along 
Mocking Catalani's song ; 
Oft with Peter Pindar wanders 
Framing merry fibs and slanders : 
Tripping lightly o'er the plain 
Blythe she leads her antic train. 
Tumbling monkeys, learned pigs, 
Men in sacks, and owls in wigs ; 
Sure for all her whims to find 
Praise from ev'ry thoughtless mind. 

Let me, Folly, ever stray 
Where thy blossoms strew the way : 
Let me far from wisdom run ; 
Wisdom all conspire to shun ; 
And her serious air deride 
As singularity or pride. 
Gently, goddess, lead me where 
Lofty halls their columns rear ; 
There, in thy fantastic bow'rs, 
Claiming no superior pow'rs, 



£63 

Will I, with thy votaries gay, 
Laugh the frolic hours away, 
While my vacant looks proclaim 
I pursue not sense or fame, 
But contented dwell with thee, 
From neglect or censure free. 
Thine the smiles that most can please, 
Spirits gay, and hearts at ease, 
Universal approbation, 
And exemption from vexation. 
Joys like these can Folly show'r ? 
Wisdom, hence ! I scorn thy pow'r. 



EXTEMPORE 
ON THE YOUNG ROSCIUS. 

Now while the tide of popular applause 
Flows high in approbation, he does well 
To speed his golden voyage : — that complete, 
Safe moor'd in port, he may securely ride, 
And laugh to hear the ebbing current roll 
With bootless clamour back. 



264 



TO THE DIAMOND, 

In the simple style of Modern Poetry 

O diamond ! thy rays 

Are a bog-gender'd blaze, 
Though men rate their merits so high, 

And think thee as bright 

As the stars at night, 
Or the moon in a cloudless sky. 

But those who love the gems of heav'n 

But little for thee would in truth have giv'n 
For thou hast no essence^ and tried by the fire 
Thy beams and thy beauties all expire, 
And even thy very shape is gone, 
Like hoar-frost chac'd from an eastern stone, 
No, marvel vain Di'mond that thou art dear 
To the sons of pride in their gay career, 

And the joys they love, 

Like thee shall prove 
A baseless glitter, a fleeting shade ; 

In the beam of truth 

Their vaunted youth, 
And life's fantastic masquerade, 
Like a lonely cloud on the hills shall fade. 



261 



THE 



IB ®in & 19 saw Trails 



AN 

HISTORICAL DRAMA; 

FOR THE 

PERFORMANCE OF CHILDREN, 

A3 UEPRE9ENTED 

AT THE CLIFF, 
JANUARY 20th, 1809, 



266 



DRAMATIS PERSONjE. 

Pompey.—K young Roman Soldier, son of the 
General Strabo. — Master R. Cobbold, 
11 Years old. 
Terentius. — His Companion in arms conspiring with 
Cinna to murder him, and betray the 
Army under the Command of Strabo. 
— Master E. Cobbold, 10 Years old. 
The Scene is in the Camp of Strabo. 



PROLOGUE, 

Spoken by Master Richard Cobbold. 
Not train'd or practis'd in dramatic schools, 
And quite unvers'd in any critic rules ; 
Our path with theme and actors yet untried, 
We now explore, and Plutarch is our guide, 
From whose instructive page we place before ye 
A slight dramatic sketch, a Roman story, 
Though for our merits, no applause we claim, 
Cheer us as candidates for future fame ; 
Your smiles shall bid each patriot feeling rise 
And ev'ry acted virtue realize. 



267 



THE ROMAN MUTINY. 

ACT. I. SCENE I. 
The Roman Camp. 

Terentius looking back on the Tent of Pompey. 
Pompey 'tis well :— This evening's gay repast 
Befits thee to enjoy,— it lures thy fate, 
A laughing mask upon the brow of death. 
Have I not sworn his doom ? nor shall his smile, 
Nor e'en the humid lustre of his eye, 
For pity pleading, shake my firm resolve. 
His father leads our Romans, but, they hate 
His pride, his av'rice, and will freely join 
The band that fires their hoary Gen'ral's tent ; 
Yet, should the son appear, his suasive voice 
Would lure them from their purpose.*— O that voice! 
I loathe its silver soothing tone that wins 
The soldiers hearts, while at my sterner words 
They smile contempt. E'en in the din of war 
The fate of Pompey governs mine, else why 
Should he with youthful sinews scarcely knit 



268 

O'ercome the huge barbaric Chief, whose arm 
Had prest me down. Curse on his lucky aim ! 
I hate his glory, hate his proffered love. 
When yon pale crescent verging to the west 
Shall sink beneath the wave, this dagger's point 
Shall drink my rival's blood ; till then be mine 
Dissimulation's smile, — Tis now the hour 
That Cinna mark'd to meet him in his tent, 
And plan our midnight tumult. Charon waits 
By the infernal flood, to hail the shades 
Of Pompey and of Strabo; aid me now 
Ye Ministers of vengeance, night and death ! 

SCENE II. 
The Inside of Pompey's Tent. 

Pompey alone. 
When will my friend return ? — this light repast, 
And these delicious fruits shall soothe the toils 
That wait on warfare, while the flowing bowl 
And social converse of the ev'ning hour 
Shall give the joys of peace. — Hark ! whence that 

groan ? 
A wounded Soldier crawling to my tent 
Holds forth a blood-stain'd tablet. — Ah, he sinks ! 
I fly to succour him. {Goes out } and returns. 



269 

All aid is vain, 
•Twas his last groan,— yet with the grasp of death 
He prest this writing to my hand. — O Gods ! 
What treason here displays its snaky folds ? 
Alas, the detail'd scheme impels conviction, 
And doubt were madness here : Terentius false, 
And sworn my murderer ? — Hold, hold my heart, 
He whom I lov'd so dearly, he who shar'd 
My tent, my board, my counsels ; O ye pow'rs 
That watch o'er truth, prompt, prompt some daring 

thought 
To save my father, save my bleeding country. 
I thank ye Gods ! now to your wise suggestions 
Add only fortitude. The traitor comes, 
Now Pompey, now be firm, and let no word, 
No look betray thy knowledge. 

Enter Terentius. 
Terentius. 

Will my friend 
Forgive my late return ? Some babbling knaves 
With most officious and unwelcome love 
Detain'd me from thy dearer converse. 
Pompey. 

Well 
The bowl must pass the speedier, take this wreath 
And plunge it in the sparkling wine, now pour 



270 

The rich libation to the fav'ring Gods 
That guard our city. 

\Terentius sprinkling the Wine. 

To the Gods of Rome I 
Now to thy health, my Pompey. 
Pompey. 

Thanks, my friend, 
Now share the banquet freely, with the morn 
New dangers may demand our arms, meanwhile 
Repose shall fit us for the toils of war, 
Or counsels warier judgment. 
Terentius. 

Why this wine 
Might make repose superfluous? this will brace 
The sinews and arouse the vig'rous thought 
That leads to deeds of glory. 



O but sleep 
Gives holier nursing than intemperance, 
And sweetly renovates, not fires the soul. 

Terentius. 
'Tis well observ'd, my friend, this wasting lamp 
Warns us to peaceful slumber. Sweet repose 
Rest on thy pillow. 

Pompey. 
Holy dreams on thine. 



271 

Terentius. 
My friend, thy hand ; good night. Out blinking 

flame, 
Once more, my friend, good night. 
{They lie down : after a pause, Pompey rises, and 
silently and cautiously escapes from the Tent. 
Terentius rising. 

Already sleep 
Has stolen upon his senses. — Through the gloom 
Not e'en his measur'd breathing meets my ear 
To note the pulse of time. — O when shall rest 
Revisit thee Terentius ? — Thought be still, 
Thy images are horrible ! hist ! hist ! 
He moves, he wakes ! — O no ; 'twas but the wind 
That shook these canvas walls. To murder's breast 
The veriest zephyr seems a raging storm. 
Now all is hush'd as death : — Ye furies guide 
This trusty steel, and nerve my trembling arm. 
[He stabs the couch on which he supposes Pompey to 

be sleeping. 
The deed is done, and firmly : — not a groan 
Betray'd it in the act. What chilling dews 
Creep o'er my frame, while hideous phantoms rise 
To people darkness ! — Ha ! those gliding forms ! 
I dare not linger in this scene of blood. 
Fate and the furies call me : — grog, I come 
To steal my soul,— Hell, I am wholly thine. 



27% 

ACT II. 
SCENE ANOTHER PART OF THE CAMP. 

POMPEY ENTERS FROM THE TENT OF StRABO^ 

Pompey. 
No, my clear father! no-: you shall not brave 
Their blind, their headlong fury: — I alone 
Will stem the torrent and divert its course : 
Trust to my influence. — Ho ! let Varro lead 
His Legions to the eastern pass ; there halt 
And guard it as your honor : Tatius thou 
Marshal the chosen band, and place its flow'r 
Around the Gen'ral's tent. [Guards appear. 

This promptitude 
Outspeeds my very thoughts ! — Aye, this looks well -> 
With such a band I shall not fear to meet 
A host of traitors. — Patriot valour forms 
A bulwark that opposing numbers strive 
In vain to overwhelm : with steady force 
It makes the shock upon the foe recoil, 
And hurls destruction back. — Behold, they come : 
Poor victims of delusion ! thoughtless tools 
In crafty faction or ambition's hands ! 
Terentius leads them on. Now to your post, 
Nor let impatient courage, or the burst 



273 

Of virtuous indignation, urge your steps 
To aught of rashness. 

\Enter Terentius followed by Soldiers. 

Pause, my friends ; methinks 
I hear the clash, I see the gleam of arms, 
And torches glare upon the brow of night : 
We are betray'd: — ah! what art thou? The shade 
Of murder'd Poinpey ? 

Pompey. 

No, his living self 
Who thus defies thee, traitor ! comrades, hold ; 
Advance no step, nor rob my just revenge, 
This combat must be mine. 

Terentius. 

Soldiers, draw back :— • 
Insolent boaster ! dost thou think thy strength 
Can cope with mine? 

Pompey, 
Thy treason stamp'd its worth 
More than my vaunt, — hadst thou not fear'd to meet 
Or force, or skill, superior to thine own, 
Thy dagger still had kept its sheath, nor stolen 
At midnight on my couch. 

Terentius. 

Curse on the art 
That baffled my intent ! — sure magic spells 

Y 



274 

Are plac'd round thee, and some demon gives 
A foresight more than human ! yet unaw'd, 
I brave thee thus. 

\_TheyJight ; Pompey wards off the blows of Terentius 
and wounds him. 

Pompey. 
Thy sword is yet unstain'd 
With any blood of mine, while from thy veins 
A purple torrent pours. — Wilt thou abjure 
The traitor's cause, and from thy injur'd friend 
Accept forgiveness. 

Terentius. 

Let thy clemency 
Deride the conquer'd wretch, my soul disdains 
Thy boyish mercy, I have yet no hurt 
Should bow me to a stripling's arm. — Come on, 
{They fight ; Terentius is struck down and disarmed. 

Pompey. 
Traitor, away ! I will not take thy life, 
Go, learn remorse !— No more, — begone ! — The time 
Is ripe for danger. — Lead him to my tent. 

\_Exit Terentius guarded. 
Pompey Addressing the Mutineers. 
Now fellow Soldiers hear me : — Will you stain 
Your well earn'd glory by a league with treason^ 
And blot the honor of the Roman name ? 



275 

I understand those threat'ning gestures well ; 
Ambitious knaves have shewn each petty grievance 
As multiplied oppression : — but your wrongs, 
If wrongs you have, may best obtain redress 
Within the bounds of duty. — Friends in arms, 
By all the toils and dangers we have shar'd, 
By all the laurel wreaths our swords have won, 
Hear me. — By patriot feelings unsubdued, 
By Rome's blest altars, by our country's Gods, 
I charge you hear me. — By the love you oft 
Have vow'd to me, — by ev'ry hope of home, 
And by the twin'd affection which you bear 
Your wives and smiling babes,— O hear me, hear 

me ! 
Alas ! they heed me not ! — With madd'ning haste 
This way they throng. — This is the path which 

leads 
To Cinna's host, and to my father's tent : — 
One effort more. — Now, comrades, mark me well ; 
I will not stain mine armour with that blood 
I value as mine own. — Farewel my shield, 
Farewel my useless sword, — I cannot live 
To see my countrymen dishonor'd, stain'd 
With parricide and treason. — On the earth 
I throw this worthless body, — worthless now 
Because it bleeds not in my country's cause : 



276 

Now urge your way to Cinna ;— if you pass 
You pass upon my mangled carcase : crush 
My bones to atoms,— trample me to dust, 
I'll not complain.— 

[The Soldiers fallback. 
Why do ye pause i — O heav'n ! 
They yield, they weep ! — O soldiers I — Omy friends? 
Again we'll share the dangers of the war, 
Again we'll rash to glory. — Gods, accept 
Their tears and bless this full return to virtue. 
[He kneels and the Curtain falls* 



277 



EPILOGUE, 

Spoken by Master Edward Cobbold. 

Our Drama o'er, from favorable omens 
I judge, good Sirs, you thought us noble Romans I 
While dimpling smiles upon the Ladies cheeks, 
Rejoice our hearts, and make us merry Greeks ! 
When fate shall call us, in maturer age, 
To play our parts on life's uncertain stage, 
May we, through all our scenes of gay or grave, 
Still emulate* the virtuous and the brave, 
In ev'ry future act our wish be shewn, 
To merit your esteem and feel our own ; 
And friend or foe, which e'er we chance to hit on 
Acknowledge each an honest loyal Briton, 

The Motto of the Children's Theatre is " Emulabimus." 



278 



ODE, TO THE MEMORY 
OF ADMIRAL LORD VISCOUNT NELSON. 

Spoken by in the Character of Britannia, at 

the Conclusion of the Naval Pillar : as performed 
at Yarmouth, on the day of August, 1817. 

Hark to that shout !— through ocean's caves 

The peal of triumph rings, 
And echo, on the bounding waves 

Renown's clear records brings* 

Did not my kindling heart expand 
As ever and anon, some hero's name 
Borne on the wings of fame 

Rose with fresh honors o'er this happy land? 

But when upon her plumes of flame, 
My Nelson's flag of conquest rode 
Maternal pride, maternal feeling glow'd ; 
I felt each thought aspire, 
With more than patriot fire, 

And own'd in ev'ry wreath by Nelson won, 

A mother's triumph in her fav'rite son. 



279 

When victory's exulting tone 

Came mingling with the deadly groan., 

Whene'er it swell'd, the song of joy 

Was hush'd into a lengthen'd sigh, 

When the mute glance, and choaking breath 

In silence told a hero's death, 

Loose to the winds I gave my scatter'd hair, 

And wept, till sadness almost seem'd despair, 

Now time has dried the tear, 
And we can gaze upon the glorious light 
That in its new effulgence shone too bright 

For grief's enfeebled eye to bear ; 
And they who deepest felt my woes 

Whose triumphs too were mine, 
The hearts to worth and Nelson dear, 
His friends, his countrymen, are here 

To dedicate his shrine. 
'Twas here that light of honor rose, 
Hence shall its radiance stream afar, 

And here its glories brightest shine, 
Each future hero's guiding star. 
Hail to the shrine whose valour bore 
My splendour and dominion o'er 

The eastern and the western world, 
And from the Nile to Denmark's shore 

My conquering thunders hurl'd ! 



280 

Still in his glory's record lives my own, 

And Nelson's pillar is my proudest throne* 

O well my Nelson's last behest 

Is fix'd in ev'ry British breast ; 

And still are prompt and steady all 

At England's, and at duty's call : 

Then let the patriot band 

Unite in voice, in heart, in hand ; 

Swell loud and full the choral song, 

And earth, and air the sound prolong, 

Till ocean's depths reply, 

And Rule Britannia echo to the sky* 



281 



A ROMANCE OF THE EIGHTEENTH 
CENTURY. 

It was about the middle of October that the Rev, 
Francis Pennington took a journey into Cornwall, 
being summoned thither by the indisposition of a 
friend ^ whom he tenderly loved, and who had lately 
purchased an estate in that county. Travelling on 
horseback, and not being well acquainted with the 
country, he one afternoon wandered to a consider- 
able distance from the direct road, and found him- 
self, at the close of the evening not far from the sea 
shore, — On the land side, the prospect, as far as the 
eye could reach, was bleak, barren and uncomfort- 
able. A dark storm impending over the ocean, 
rolled on with the shades of night, the silence of 
which was only broken by the howling of the blast, 
and the hoarse dashing of the breakers on the rocky 
shore. — The darkness increased, interrupted at mo- 
mentary intervals by vivid flashes of lightening, 
Mr. Pennington hesitated, uncertain what course to 
pursue, when on a sudden, his ear was assailed by 
dismal cries and shrieks, as from some one in ex*. 



28^ 

treme agony, which presently died away in melan- 
choly groans. — Humanity was the first impulse of 
Mr. Pennington's heart, and though the sounds came 
f om a distance, he proceeded, as nearly as he could 
guess in their direction, in hopes that his interven- 
tion might be of service ; though not without some 
apprehension that the consequences might be fatal 
to himself. He had travelled, as he thought, nearly 
to the spot from whence the sound proceeded, when 
a sudden flash of lightening discovered close to his 
right hand, a ruinous building that appeared to be 
the remains of an ancient abbey : dismounting from 
his horse, he led him to the sheltered side of the 
ruin, and having fastened him, as well as the dark- 
ness would permit, to a fragment of the dilapidated 
gate- way, he entered the building, silently and cauti- 
ously exploring his way through high weeds and 
bushes intermixed with broken masses of stone work. 
He paused, he listened : he fancied that he heard 
low murmurs of hollow voices. — He laid his ear to 
the ground, and soon distinguished footsteps passing 
along the ruins. Presently a small door in the in- 
terior of the building opened, and a light streamed 
across the dark recesses. Mr. Pennington concealed 
himself behind a clustered column, and with trem- 
bling horror perceived two men of the most feroci- 



283 

ous appearance, issue from the little portal ! Their 
hands and garments were stained with blood, one 
of them bore a lighted torch ; the other brandished 
an immense knife reeking with recent gore ! a The 
poor devil howled horribly V* exclaimed the fellow 
who carried the light. ft Faith" replied the other, 
" he gave us some trouble to do his business for 
" him, but I'll be d-^-d if I don't dispatch the other 
" more quickly when it comes to his turn, but 
*' come along, let us call Pendergast and Travers ; 
" we shall have work enough on our hands before 
re morning." So saying, they entered another recess 
in the building, and left Mr. Pennington again in 
utter darkness, impressed with the horrible conviction 
that he had fallen into a den of robbers and mur- 
derers. — One hope remained, that they might not 
have discovered him ; sustained by this, he con- 
trived to reach the gate-way, though his heart 
almost died within him, from the fear that his horse 
might have been observed : luckily he found him 
in the very situiition in which he left him, and, re- 
mounting as quickly as possible, rode off full speed 
from this scene of horrors ! It was some time be*, 
fore he slackened his pace, or considered what 
route to pursue, but as soon as he felt himself re- 
lieved from the apprehension of immediate danger, 



284 

he began to reflect on his situation : alone, and 
benighted, in a barren and inhospitable part of the 
country, entirely a stranger to the roads or the 
neighbourhood, he wisely took the resolution of 
endeavouring to obtain shelter for the night at the 
first cottage that should present itself. He now 
proceeded with somewhat more deliberation, when 
he perceived two lights moving along at a consider- 
able distance : he made towards them, hoping from 
their appearance that they might be the lamps of a 
gentleman's carriage. The lights gradually drew 
nearer, but he could not distinguish any sound of 
wheels, or trampling of horses : all was silent, save 
the roaring wind and dashing breakers. 

As the lights approached they seemed to move 
through the air without any apparent power to 
direct them : they illumined no supporting object 
but glared on the bosom of the most horrible dark- 
ness ! Still they advanced; but without any visible 
human agency. — Mr. Pennington's horse snorted 
and trembled, then suddenly starting began to 
plunge and rear; when a loud and fiend-like 
burst of laughter from several harsh and discordant 
voices seemingly close to his ear, added to Mr. 
Pennington's surprise, and completed the fright of 
his horse,, that, regardless of the spur or rein, gallop- 






%%5 

«d off with his rider, who with difficulty kept his 
seat. At length, extreme fatigue obliged the ter- 
rified animal to abate of his velocity, and Mr. 
Pennington, to his great consolation, perceived a 
light that evidently streamed from a cottage window : 
soon with the greatest satisfaction he found himself 
seated by a comfortable fire, in a little neat hedge 
ale-house, for such this humble mansion proved. 
A boy had taken his horse, and the hostess having 
brought him an old great coat, was busily drying 
his cloaths which the rain had thoroughly soaked, 
and uttering a voluble string of enquiries as to the 
gentleman's unexpected appearance, when a loud 
noise at the door attracted their attention, and the 
landlord entered, accompanied by two stout young 
men, supporting an elderly clergyman, whose pale 
face and haggard eye, indicated some alarming 
indisposition. — "Lord bless me ! Bessey," exclaimed 
thehost," here's poor Parson Mimshas fallen down in 
"afitjustas he reached the church door; andthough 
ie his worship be some little recovered, he is not 
" quite com'd to his senses yet ; so do, dearBessey! 
" get him a little burnt brandy, and put him hito 
" the best bed." Bessey obeyed with the most hu- 
mane alacrity, and assisted her husband to carry 
the sick clergyman up stairs, who being put into a 



2S6 

warm bed, soon recovered, so far as to remove all 
apprehension of danger, and the host descended to 
attend on his stranger guest. " I beg your honor's 
" pardon" said he, " but this is such a cross acci- 
" dent ! and what is the worst of it, the corpses 
" won't be buried after all this dreary right, and, 
" God knows the poor fellows have had stormy 
" weather enough of it already." Was the gentle- 
man about to read the burial service, demanded 
Mr. Pennington r " Yes, your honor," replied the 
host, " but if so be as I doesn't mistake, your honor, 
" is a Parson too, the church isn't more than a 
" hundred yards off, and if your honor would have 
** the goodness and the kindness, just to go and say 
" the prayers over the poor fellows it would be a 
" charitable deed your honor." " I will most readily 
" undertake to perform the office," said Mr. Pen- 
nington, putting on his coat. " Where is the Clerk 
" of the parish ?" " 1 am he, your honor : pray follow 
*' me," replied his host," and set off immediately 
for the church, followed by Mr. Pennington. They 
entered a venerable gothic fabric, the broad aisles 
and massy columns of which, were scarcely render- 
ed visible by the glimmering light of one solitary 
taper placed in the belfry.—" O Lord, your honor" 
exclaimed the host, * my lads are not come ! do 



287 

< c your honor have the goodness to stop here a 
4 . c minute, while I fetch them," so saying he left 
Mr. Pennington in solitude and silence. This 
gentleman was, much surprised to observe no pre- 
paration for a funeral ; no sable pomp, no weeping 
mourners : he thought his host rather tardy, and to 
amuse the tedious minutes found his way to the 
choir, which was lighted by a faint gleam from the 
taper in the belfry, and, as he looked down the 
great aisle, he thought he perceived a number of 
strange indistinct whitish figures stretched along 
it. As he gazed more attentively to ascertain 
whether it might not be an illusion of fancy, the 
shadow of a gigantic arm glided across the pavement! 
Mr. Pennington started, he looked up, and discern- 
ed a large black hand, armed with a massy club, 
raised aloft and prepared to strike ! Suddenty he 
heard the toll of the deep-toned bell ! — He stagger- 
ed, he fell ; and in falling, his hand caught the cold 
hand of a corpse ! The accumulated horrors of the 
evening overcame hira, and he fainted away. In 
this situation his host found him on his return ; and 
greatly distressed at this second accident, conveyed 
him, with the assistance of his sons, to his cottage. 
He did not recover his recollection till morning, 
but, as soon as he was sufficiently recovered he 



288 

gave a distinct narration of the horrible events 
that had befallen him, concluding with a declaration 
that he could no longer resist the belief of super- 
natural agency ! 

END OF THE FIRST PART, 



A ROMANCE OF THE EIGHTEENTH 

CENTURY. 

PART THE SECOND 

te If his honor would not be offended," replied 
Mr. Pennington's host, u I believe I could pretty 
" nearly tell his honor, how all these things hap- 
" pened." " Most willingly, my good fellow," 
said Mr. Pennington, te would I have this load of 
e( superstition removed from my mind," and his 
host thus proceeded : u You must know then, your 
" honor, that the shrieks and cries you heard, 
te came from the old abbey on the shore, which two 
" or three of our Cornish peasants have contrived 
" to turn into a comfortable dwelling. In the east 
•* end of it live Timothy Jenkins and his Dame, who 
" have for some time been fatting two pigs, one of 
•* which they killed last night, and by the same 
u token, my Bessey, is to have some of the skins, 



289 

(e and a joint for sausages. The other pig is to be 
" killed in about a fortnight. So this, your honor, 
" accounts for the cries, and the strange talk of the 
" two men, and they will have work enough on their 
<e hands before morning on the coast ; for, to please 
" your honor, they are wreckers." 

" As to the lights, to be sure, that is bad enough, 
" and I am almost ashamed to mention it, it is so 
" shocking ! but, as the old proverb says, what is 
" one man's meat, is another man's poison, and so it 
" happens here : not that I pretend to excuse our 
" people, but I wish Mr. Pitt and the King, and all 
" our great folks would make a law to teach them 
" better 1 However, to the point ; your honor must 
•'* know that our coast is very bad; and many 
<f vessels are wrecked here, and that our people live 
" by it ; but they should be content with what for- 
ei tune throws in their way, and not go about seek- 
" ing to destroy ; but this is their practise ; more 
" shame for them ! When they know any vessels are 
u off the coast, in such a dark stormy night as the 
" last was, they get a black curtain, and stretch it 
" upon poles ; at the top of these poles they fix 
" lighted torches, and move along the shore, keep- 
" ing close behind the curtain, so that in a very 
" dark night, nothing can be seen but the lights 



290 

"themselves. The vessels off the shore take them for 
" the lights of ships at sea, which they look exactly 
" like, and thus, free from fear of danger, they are 
" decoyed on to our rocks, and there wrecked. It 
" was such an expedition as this, that your honor, 
• f met, and the wicked fellows behind the curtain 
u laughed to find your horse take fright at their 
" stalking horse." 

". As to the affair of the church, that will be ex- 
" plained at once, if your honor will take the trouble 
" of going there by day-light. We have had blowing 
€{ weather for some days, and many dead bodies 
" had been washed ashore yesterday ; they were 
tc all brought up to the church, and decently wrapt 
" in parish blankets : Myself and my sons had dug 
" a deep grave for them, and Parson Mims was 
" just going to bury them, when, poor soul ! he 
" was taken in one of his fits, to which he has lately 
" been subject, and his house being about a mile 
" off, I brought him here, which your honor knows 
" was the reason of my asking you to do the duty. 
" When I got to the church I found my lads were 
" not come, and that your honor might not be kept 
" too long there, I ran to call some more help, 
" Now just above the clock stand two large old 
". fashioned figures, with great clubs in their hands, 



291 

" and they strike the hour upon a bell that stands 
" between them : but I have been told that there 
i( are two such on the outside of a church at Lon- 
" don, which perhaps, your honor, may have seen, 
et Now behind one of these great smite-o'clock's, 
" I had put my candle, and it happened to strike at 
" the very time that your honor was alone, and that 
" startling your honor, you fell, and caught the 
<e cold hand of one of the poor drowned seamen ; 
ee and that I suppose frighted your honor, and you 
« fainted." 



BALLAD, 
Why dost thou mark the struggling sighs 

That bid my bosom wildly swell, 
The fond emotions whence they rise 

No look, no sigh shall ever tell ! 

Why watch, when down my cheek will steal, 
The frequent tear of hidden Woe ? 

My tears may fall, but ne'er reveal 

The sacred source from which they flow. 

Those gentle drops like summer rain, 
Sustain and soothe my fainting soul ; 

So Nile's soft waves that cheer the plain, 
From undiscover'd fountains roll. 



292 



INSCRIPTION 
FOR A SCRAP BOOK. 

If not with dainties cloy'd, perhaps, 
Reader, you'll make a feast on scraps ; 
For scraps to love and friendship dear 
In various forms are treasured here. 
Here the sketch'd landscape may impart 
Some fond rememb'rance to the heart ; \ 
The flow'r that grac'd affection's bosom 
A little longer here may blossom ; 
Gay strokes of fancy may beguile 
The brow of care to pleasure's smile ; 
Slight tracings too from folly's mirror 
May warn the youthful mind from error, 
Averted be the critic eye 
That faults alone affects to spy ! 
But, gentle reader, pray engage 
Benevolence to turn the V a g e > 
And you shall find, look where you will 
Some scrap of genius, taste or skill ! 



293 



CUFF VALENTINES, 

1808. 

BASKET OF EARLY FLOWERS. 

Have not thy cares and fost'ring hand 
Rear'd the first visitants of spring, 

And taught their blossoms to expand, 
While winter lagg'd on sullen wing ? 

And thus, with thee, affection's joys 
No angry passions shall deform ; 

Domestic blessings round thee rise, 
And laugh at each external storm. 



A CHURCH. 

In sending this lot it was fortune's intent 
To indicate blessings to you and your lover, 

But whether a church or a churchman be meant 
Is left for yourself to discover. 



294 



A BUTTERFLY. 

Thy Valentine, on pleasure's wing, 
Has sported in the gales of spring, 

And play'd the gay, the wand'rmg lover : 
Resolving now no more to roam, 
He makes thy peaceful breast his home, 

'Tis thme to charm and fix the rover. 



A SHIP. 

For thee this Vessel smoothly glides, 
Impell'd by prosp'rous gales, 

Securely borne on flowing tides, 
While pleasure fills the sails. 

No fickle gust of fortune veers, 
No waves her freight o'erwhelm, 

Wedlock the port for which she steers, 
With prudence at the helm ; 

And all of love and hope combine 

To speed the good ship Valentine ! 



v 



295 

TRUTH RESTING ON A COLUMN. ^ 
No^adverse fate shall here prevail, 

Nor sorrow bid thy heart repine ; 
What danger can thy breast assail 

If truth and constancy be thine ? 

GROUPE OF HEARTS ON AN ALTAR. 
Though vanity court you with hearts in profusion, 
Your sense will avoid the fantastic illusion, 
And choosing one heart, with decisive election, 
Unite it to yours in the bonds of affection. 

CHINESE PAGODA. 

Richest store 
From China's shore ; 

Treasures of the east, 
Wait on thy behest : 

Gold and gems before thee laid 
Are but offerings duly paid; 

And all the treasures faithful love 

To thee can tender, here shall prove 

No idojl worship, but the duty 

Affection vows to worth and beauty. 



/ 



296 



A LYRE. 



The hand that gaily strikes the Lyre^ 
With joy's delight and fancy's fire, 

To form the melody of love, 
Can doubly all the notes prolong, 
Can fill the chords, and swell the song., 

The harmony of life to prove. 



A TROPHY. 

What though no military swain 

Perchance your inclination chose, 
A Trophy can the maid disdain 
Whose charms so many conquests gain^ 
Whose virtues triumph o'er her foes £ 



BOUQUET OF FLOWERS. 

While the flow'rets of summer for you are display'd^ 
Ere winter or tempest their beauty can blot, 

Collect of the sweetest a nosegay, fair maid, 
To bind for your breast in a true-lover's knot. 



297 

CUPID'S BOW AND QUIVER, 

Though fate, my fair, to thee deliver 
Love's bow, his arrows, and his quiver, 

No mischief shall with thee be found; 
Thou shalt so twine with flowers the dart, 
Strike with such gentle skill the heart. 

That all who feel shall bless the wound, 

A HEART ON AN ALTAR. 
Disdain, dear maid ! coquettish art : 

Say, yes, nor let thine accents falter ; 
Love offers thee a faithful heart, 

And Hymen wooes thee to the Altar. 

A TALM TREE, 

Encircled with Flowers: inscribed with the Nelson motto , 
" Palmam quae meruit fer at." 
Who best deserves the palm shall bear : 
Since fortune shews her judgment here, 
And claims a favourite, who inherits 
Bland graces, twin'd with lofty merits, 
What youth would greater bliss pursue, 
Than this, to bear the palm with you ? 



X'DH 



A HEAUT WITH A PADLOCK AND KEY. 

/ 
A padlock, my dear ! have you plac'd on your heart? 4 

Say, who to unlock it, possesses the art ? 

You need not reply, by your smile I can see, 

When you find the right owner, you'll give him the 

key. 

CUPIDS AT PLAY. 
Arm'd with no fierce or cruel skill, 
The loves attend upon your will; 
In mirth and sportive graces drest, 
They flutter lightly round your breast. 
They twine a flow'ry wreath, to bind 
In easy chains, the willing mind ; 
And ev'ry soothing charm impart, 
To captivate, not wound the heart. 

FLOWERS BENEATH AN OLIVE TREE. 
Beneath the Olive's peaceful shade 
Love has, with playful fancy, made 

For you a bed of flowers : 
With modest skill, and gentle grace, 
The blossoms guard, each weed erase, 
And deck with sweets your bowers, 




H5~ " 7?uT 



3TiVj 



299 



CORALS AND SHELLS. 

The waves of the ocean have borne to your feet 

A present of Corals and Shells : 
Tho' humble the off'ring, let tenderness greet, 

The gift where simplicity dwells. 

Should mem'ry's soft pencil, retrace on your hearty 

Some generous son of the main, 
This gift emblematic, will pleasure impart^ 

Nor shells be receiv'd with disdain, 



A BASKET OF FRUIT. 

If you have wisely nurs'd the flow'rs 
That spring profuse in vernal bow'rs, 

And train'd their blossoms gay ; 
The fruits of youth, in virtue spent, 
Ripe judgment, peace, and rich content 

Shall bless your summer day. 



300 

CASTLE ON A HILL. 

See i fortune presents you an eminent station ; 

Then think of the consequent duties you owe : 
Kind blessings dispense from your high elevation, 

Nor look with disdain on the cottage below. 

Serene in the bliss that your bounty has made, 
Your moments shall peacefully, joyfully roll ; 

While the bright flag of union, in triumph display 'd, 
Shall gracefully wave and embellish the whole. 



A HARP. 

When fretful hours, and griefs intrude 

On life's domestic plan, 
When worldly cares, and discords rude. 

Have warp'd the mind of man ; 
Then female softness tunes the strings 

To many a melting tone, 
And o'er the Harp transported flings 

A soothing all her own, 
Bids ev'ry note to love reply, 
And blends them into harmony. 



SOL 



A HUMMING BIRD, 
ON A BRANCH OF MIMOSA. 

The restless bird of Indian bow'rs 
Takes various tastes from various flow'rs, 

And roves in circles gay. 
But where Mimosa's sweets exhale 
Their fragrance to the ev*ning gale, 

He best delights to play. 

So love, when light and prone to change, 
In sun-gilt climates joys to range, 

And roves from sweet to sweet, 
To cruel pastime most inclin'd, 
Where sensibilities refin'd 

With youthful fervor meet. 

But her, whose regulated breast 
Holds mild discretion, welcome guest ! 

No fickle Cupids wooe : 
Then, led by truth and honor, love 
Shall seek your breast, my fair, and prove 

No Humming Bird to you, 



302 

AN ESCALLOP SHELL. 

The Pilgrim, who with awe divine, 
Bow'd humbly at the holy shrine, 
In token of his service bore 
A shell, from Judah's hallow'd shore 
So, if with truth and rev'rence due, 
A worthy lover bow to you, 
Let no coquettish idle wile 
Repress the kind assenting smile, 
But tokens of sincere regard 
Approve his vows, his faith reward * 



A HEART, «/ 



Plaited as a Puzzle, with a Golden Dart interwoven. 

Have you, my fair, with harmless art 

The various feelings known, 
That complicate the human heart, 

And guarded well your own ? 

If cautiously this prudent skill 

In virtue's cause you prove, 
Be yours to win, and use at will, 

The golden shaft of love. 



303 

CORONET WREATHED WITH FLOWERS. 
If dignities, my fair, attend 
Upon your future hours, 
Observe the counsels of a friend, 
And wear them twin'd with flow'ra. 

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 
The apple of gold, flung by discord of yore 

Let beauty unenvied inherit ; 
Since Cupid has gifts less pernicious in store 

For dignified prudence and merit. 



gentlemen's valentines, 

1809. 



A GOOSE. 
Has fortune been to you unkind ? 
An added proof the dame is blind ; 
And since to-night, she made you chuse 
That awkward bird, a cackling Goose, 
Believe me, sir, your safest plan 
Will be, to call your Goose a Swan : 
If wisely you this scheme pursue, 
You'll make the world believe it too. 



304 



AN OWL. 



/ 



Dear Valentine ! why should you scowl, 

Or look askew upon an Owl ? 

Believe me, sir, upon my word 

I'll prove a very quiet bird; 

Wink at your faults, and sleep all day, 

Teaze you with no domestic fray ; 

And when the female world is gadding, 

For plays, and balls, and opera's madding, 

I'll steadily devote my nights 

To solemn literary flights, 

On lab'ring wing the muse pursue, 

And only sing " Thee Wit I Wooer 



A DOVE. 
How blest will the youth, and how fortunate prove, 
Whose prize in the lott'ry of life is a Dove ! 

A WARBLER, 
If in music's soft graces your spirits delight, 

If to harmony's court you belong, 
A Warbler shall cheer you from morning till night, 

And chace ev'ry care with a song. 



305 

A BIRD OF PARADISE. 

<c Ohj fortunate ! happy choice ! 
Behold a Bird of Paradise ! 
Pause, sir ; nor let your thought presume 
Such merit in that gaudy plume. 
With little skill their nest they weave., 

Domestic duties proudly shun, 
And floating light in ether, leave 

Their offspring to the fost'ring sun : 
And though no cheering song they sing, 
These birds are ever on the wing : 
Then seek a mate with wiser choice, 
And shun the Bird of Paradise. 

A KINGFISHER. 

Behold the bird whose skill can form, 
On roughest sedge, a downy pillow, 

Whose tenderness can quell the storm, 
And hush to rest the foaming billow. 

Be such a gentle partner yours, 

Through joy and sorrow's changing maze, 

Whose mild affection bliss secures, 

And gilds your life with halcyon d.iys. 
c c 



306 



A SWAN. 

The fair, who proud in native worth, 
Adds virtuous deeds to noble birth, 
Whose purity no spots deface, 
Who mingles dignity with grace, 
Will sure, by all discerning eyes, 
Be justly deem'd a worthy prize I 
May you, my friend, with such a wife 
Sail smoothly on the stream of life. 



XcABXES VAX.ENTXNES, 1810, 



CONSTANCY IN A MYRTLE BOWER, 

Love beckons thee to Myrtle Bow'rs, 
And fancy strews the way with flowVs ; 
Too oft illusion gilds their joys, 
And truth the fairy scene destroys : 
But no such wreck shall thee betide, 
For Constancy shall here preside, 
Here smiling, place her throne secure, 
And bid the Myrtle Bow'r endure. 



307 



THE FOUR ELEMENTS. 

Whilom, in ancient Greece, 'tis said 

A poet fabled, that the fair 
Had each a soul distinctly made 

Of fire, of water, earth, or air : 
But had he known thy glowing heart, 

Or witness'd to thy lucid eye 
The tear for want, or sorrow start, 

Or seen thy hand that want supply, 
Or mark'd thee, swift as seraph's wing, 
The kind relief to sorrow bring ; 
His verse would certainly declare 
That fire, that water, earth and air, 
Their purest essences combine 
To form thy perfect Valentine. 



A HEART IN A GOTHIC SHRINE. 

Affection's language, pure and plain, 

And truth's unchanging vows are thine; 

Nor thou the faithful heart disdain, 
Though offer'd in a Gothic Shrine. 



tlOF 



SPRING. 

With timid footsteps Spring advances 

To scatter flow 'rets through the vale; 
Oft backward looks, with fearful glances, 

And dreads to meet the hostile gale : 
And so does love at first essay 

His influence o'er the heart to gain, 
By gentlest steps pursues his way, 

And trembles at your eye's disdain : 
Then cheer his hopes, his fears disarm ; 
Your smiles can like the sunbeams warm. 



SUMMER. 

i 

When love has once bask'd in hope's cherishing ray, 

He'll tell you, my fair, if you list to his song, 
That he'll bless all your life with the sunshine of May, 

That Summer with him, shall last all the year long : 
But laugh at his raptures, and tell him you find 
Love's reign best secur'd by the sunshine of mind. 



309 

AUTUMN. 

The joys that wait the festive board, 
The cheerful sports that welcome health, 

The heart with lib'ral feelings stor'd, 
The bounteous hand's unfailing wealth, 

Or mark'd by Autumn's form benign, 
And these shall grace thy Valentine, 



WINTER. 

At Winter's emblem do not start, 

Nor dread the Lapland landscape frore : 

Thy love shall boast as warm a heart 
As he who wooed his Orra Moor ; 

And thou, with temper's ray serene, 

Shalt gild through life each varied scene. 



KNAVE OF HEARTS ENCIRCLED WITH 
FLOWERS. 
Does Love present thee roses gay, 
The vi'let sweet, the myrtle spray ? 
The flow'rs may tempt ; but, ah ! beware ! 
The Knave of Hearts is lurking there. 



310 



THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE. 

Dame Fortune turns her Wheel, and ties 
The veil of error o'er her eyes ; 
So, blindly, to the croud dispenses 
Whate'er can charm their grosser senses ; 
Wealth, titles, banners red from battle, 
A fools-cap, bauble, bell, or rattle: 
But keeps from vulgar ken apart, 
Her dearest gift, a faithful heart ; 
Then takes the bandage from her sight, 
Views merit in its proper light, 
Presents to worth the ofF'ring due, 
And brings that heart, my fair, to you. 



A BEE-HIVE SUPPORTED BY CUPIDS. 

V 

Does industry delight thee, fair, 
And feminine domestic care 

Employ thy peaceful hours ? 
That care shall find a sweet reward ; 
Love shall the treasur'd blessings guard, 

And crown thy toil with flow'rs. 



i 



311 

A FISH, IN A NET. J 

Dear lady, your Valentine, gentle and true, 

A captive most willing shall be : 
He must prove an odd Fish, if, when taken by you, 

Would struggle at all to get free. 

A FAN. 
" Go, toy to Chloe's breast divine," 
(So sings your faithful Valentine,) 
" And Fan, with unremitting care 
The flame I wish to cherish there ; 
Bid hope's delightful blaze aspire, 
And nurse affection's purest fire, 
Cheer ev'ry virtuous inclination. 
But never, never Fan flirtation." 

A COTTAGE. 
My fair, have you really decided your lot 
Would be happily fated with love in a Cot ? 
Can you the privations of poverty bear, 
Nor ever forget to have cheerfulness near ? 
If tender affection preside in your breast, 
If your heart's warmest feelings by duty are blest, 
If to blisses domestic your wishes are bent, 
Your Mansion or Cot will be that of content. 



312 



THE TEMPLE OF HYMEN, 

Lady, this sacred fane revere, 

'Tis Hymen wooes your footsteps here ; 

For you his torch resplendent shines^ 

For you the nuptial wreath he twines : 

Let no coquetry dim the blaze, 

Nor fade the wreath by feign'd delays ; 

So Hymen, love and truth shall join 

To bless you, and your Valentine. 



CUPID WITH THE CAR OF BEAUTY 

How blest the fair, who, self subdued, 
Restraining thoughtless passion's aim., 
Has own'd superior reason's claim, 

And when her tend'rest feelings sued 
Has listen'd to the voice of duty I 

Love shall himself her deeds approve, 
Submissive at her feet forego, 
His venom'd shafts, his trusty bow, 

And guiding well each fav'rite dove, 
Yield to her pow'r the Car of Beauty. 



313 

A BASKET OF FLOWERS. 

Spring, summer and autumn together combine, 
To select from their blossoming bow'rs, 

And bring to the hand of my fair Valentine, 
A basket replenish'd with Flow'rs : 

Their sweets and their beauties are vainly combin'dj 

To picture the charms of her heart and her mind. 

A GARLAND OF FLOWERS. 

Of various sweets at once combin'd, 
This flow'ry Garland love has twin'd : 
No insects here the leaves disclose ; 
No thorn accompanies the rose : 
Their best perfections love retains, 
And binds the whole in silken chains,, 

A TENT. 

Does kind St. Valentine bestow 

On you a military beau ? 

And does the Tented field alarm ? 

No danger augur ; — fear no harm ; 

Saint Valentine, in battle's storms, 

Shall shield and keep the loves lie forms, 



314 

THE LADDER OF LOVE. 

With preference meek, to merit due 
Love makes his first approach to you, 
Then with assiduous care advances, 
Observe your eye's minutest glances ; 
That eye, his tender care befriending, 
Beholds him soon to hope ascending ; 
Elate he feels his predilection 
Repaid by mutual pure affection ; 
And this the summit of his joys 
To claim your heart his highest prize ! 



A SPHINX HOLDING A TABLET, 

hiscribed with her Riddle. 

Lady, have you attain'd the mystic art 
To solve the riddles of the human heart. 
And can you, with unfailing skill, discover 
Celestial truth from falsehood in a lover? 
If such your judgment, cultur'd, clear and true^ 
No Sphinx's Riddle e'er can puzzle you, 
And easily will you this truth divine 5 
That Sphinx's Riddle is your Valentine. 



815 

ANTIC MORRIS DANCE. 

All festive sports for thee advancing, 
Youth's playful Morris round thee dancing, 
Present in light fantastic measure 
A ceaseless round of varied pleasure, 
And chace each rude obtrusive care 
That tries to weave a sorrow there. 



GENTLEMEN'S VALENTINES, 

1810. 

HEART'S-EASE.— Viola Tricolor. 

This flow'r, your lucky lot to-night, 
Presents an emblem of delight, 
Whether it whisper stolen blisses 
When gaily christen'd " garden kisses." 
Or make the same be understood 
When call'd « two faces in a hood" 
Or, pensee nam'd with joy impart 
The thoughts that fill affection's heart, 
Or in Mozart's enchanting lay 
Sing, " Love forget me not I pray," 
But grave or gay, this flow'ret's claim, 
Still Hcart'smEasc is its dearest name. 



316 

BALM-LEAVED ARCH AN GEL, Lamium Orvula. 

Does your Valentine's figure your fancy astound? 
O fear not that she should offend you, or wound : 
For beauty you've health and good humour, no 

change ill, 
No nettle is yours, but the Balm Leav'd Archangel. 



BEAUTIFUL FUMITORY.— Fumaria Formosa. 

To no origin lofty this blossom pretends ; 

No pride can she boast to encounter the storm ; 
With modest humility lowly she bends, 

Yet tenderness lives in her elegant form, 

WATER LILY.— Nymphcea Alba. 

This flow'r displays its modest head 

Where cooling waves around it play ; 
Transplanted to a warmer bed 

Its charms would wither and decay : 
E'en so, expos'd to fashion's day, 

Would meek and timid worth decline, 
Then guard from her destructive ray 

Thy modest, spotless Valentine. 



317 

LOVE IN A MIST, OR THE DEVIL IN A 
BUSH. — Nigella Damascena. 

To your Valentine's friendly advice will you list ? 

You may take it, but keep your own counsel, 
and hush ! 
If you wander too idly with love in a mist, 

You may find him at last, but the dev'l in a bush. 

GARDEN TULIP — Tulipa Gtsneriana. 

Enough, that my form is the essence of grace, 

That my features are regular, colours resplendent; 
The eye of a lover can easily trace 
All charms of the heart in the charms of the face, 
Then welcome the emblem of beauty transcendent. 

CROWN IMPERIAL.— Fritillaria Imperialis. 

Behold the Crown Imperial wear 

A richly studded diadem ; 
But ah ! a swelling dewy tear 

Encircles ev'ry seeming gem ; 
Then shun ambition's gaudy lure, 

And hold domestic blessings dear ; 
These, fondly cherish 'd, shall secure 

A Crown unsullied with a tear. 



318 

WHITE LILY.— Lilium Candidum. 

Fair is the Lily's spotless face; 
Her form is dignity and grace : 
So purity and beauty join, 
To bless your lovely Valentine* 



SUN FLOWER.— Helianthus Annuus. 

Fair Cly tie wooes the god of day, 
And follows still his circling ray ; 
So shall your faithful Valentine 
Bloom only where you please to shine, 
Think lesser lights not worth a care, 
If in your eye-beam truly fair. 



POET'S NARCISSUS.— Narcissus Poeticus. 

O might my eye your mirror be, 
How would your image there be sainted ! 

Or could you in my bosom see 

Yourself with all perfections painted, 

You well Narcissa's fate might share, 
And love the form depicted there. 



310 



CORN, OR, WAY THISTLE.— Carduus Arvensis. 

Is your wrath, my kind Valentine, only a frown ? 
How many in your case would trample me down ! 
I would I could offer you sweetness or beauty : 
I boast but a rigid inelegant duty : 
To find out one merit how vainly I try, 
To captivate either your heart or your eye ! 
Alas ! no pretensions have I to assume, or 
Depend on at all, but your perfect good humour. 



PASSION FLOWER.— Passiflora Cerulea/ 

The Passion Flow'r safe from the frost and the storm, 
Defended and train'd, rears its elegant form, 
And fair are its blossoms, delighting all eyes ; 
Neglected or frozen it droops, and it dies : 
Then cherish and shelter the tender affection, 
That rests upon you for support and protection. 



320 

LADIES VALENTINES, 1811* 
A PEACOCK BRIDLED BY CUPID. 

What joys your happy lot betide ! 
For you affection bridles pride : 
Nor scorn with Argus eyes unkind, 

Shall mark your actions too severely,. 
For love, though oft depicted blind, 

Has here distinguish'd, very clearly, 
A gentle heart, a spotless mind. 

A BOW AND QUIVER, 

With Jive Arrows Tipt with Flowers* 

Fair Lady ! serene be your innocent hours, 
No mischief to you laughing Cupid intends ; 
His sugar cane bow, and his quiver he sends, 

And his arrows for you are all pointed with flowY? 

What elegant grace does the myrtle disclose ! 
The sweets of good humour unfold in the rose; 
A fervent affection, the passion flow'r shews ; 
Bright constancy's flame in the amaranth glows, 
And pity's soft tears on the snow drop repose : 
Each blessing transcendent that sympathy knows, 
This fair combination on merit bestows. 



321 



A BOAT TRIMMED WITH CUPIDS, 

Behold, o'er gently flowing tides, 
How love the yacht of pleasure guides ! 
He mounts the mast, he plies the oar, 
His haven Hymen's happy shore, 
Love steers the helm and bends the sails, 
Then who can doubt of fav'ring gales ? 

A NEST OF TURTLE DOVES. 

Gentle Lady ! when, to you, 
Constancy and merit sue, 
Let assenting smiles impart 
Pleasure to the faithful heart, 
So shall pure affection blest 
Make your home the Turtle's Nest. 

THE INDIAN DEITY GARUDA, 

Bearing a Basket of Gems. 

The Indian god Garuda brings 
Bright eastern treasures on his wings, 
And at your feet his tribute pours, 
Of diamonds, pearls and precious ores ; 
These gifts and symbols sure discover 
A wealthy Nabob in your lover. 

£ E 



/ 



322 

PAPER NAUTILUS. 

Fair Lady, thus your fate is told ; 
Your Valentine's a Sailor bold, 
Nor shall he, unprotected brave 
The howling wind, the beating wave ; 
The hand that safely gives to float 
The Nautilus's little boat, 
For him shall rule the billow's course, 
Arrest the raging tempest's force, 
Shall ev'ry hostile gale subdue, 
And guide him safe to love, and you. 

LOVE'S HERALDRY. 

As learned Sages all determine, 

In ancient times Love's field was ermine, 

But, passing bye the days of yore, 

We now maintain his shield is or, 

On which he bears, in sculpture rude, 

A lion couchant and subdu'd, 

And both transfix'd with equal darts, 

Emblazon'd gules, two bleeding hearts : 

His two supporters, ever fam'd, 

Are constancy and courage nam'd, 

And last, O hail the omen blest ! 

A plain gold-ring is Cupid's crest. 



3Z3 



SAINT VALENTINE, surrounded with Roses. 

If in your sportive lot to-day 

Its Saint prophetic prove, 
If thornless roses strew your way, 
If lambent splendors round you play, 

And you be blest with love, 
His image in your heart enshrine, 
And be your Saint, Saint Valentine. 

CUPID TAKING AIM AT INNOCENCE. 

6( O Love, restrain the venom'd dart * 
" Forbear to wound a guileless heart." 
" O fear not," Love replied, and laugh'd, 
" In Hybla's stores I steep'd the shaft 
tc Of temper'd gold, for well I knew 
" Love might not, durst not, injure you," 

BIRD IN A CAGE. 

So, Lady, you are fairly caught, 

And Love's sweet notes must soon be taught : 

The urchin's anger do not fear ; 

His care for you shall ever be, 
To make such bondage far more dear 

Than all the sweets of liberty. 



3U 



HIGHLANDER. 

Nae muckle skill I claim to wooe, 
But winsome glee, and spirits glad ; 

And can ye, bonnie lassie, looe 
A leel and sonsy Highland lad ? 

And will ye change yer buskings bra' 
For hamelier warmer tartan plaid, 

And, owre the hills and far awa, 
Gang smiling wi' yer Highland lad ? 

And though, in hall or palace fair, 
Nae costly scents yer senses greet, 

Our mountains boast a purer air, 

Our birks and gowans smell as sweet. 

But gin, sweet lass ! anither claim 
The heart that Donald wad ha' blest, 

May his be found as pure a flame 
As ever warm'd a Scottish breast. 



325 

CUPID BEARING THE WORLD. 

One dayj old Atlas , jeer'd by Love, 
Preferr'd a formal plaint to Jove, 
Who thus reprov'd the laughing elf: 
" Go child, and bear the weight yourself." 
The World on Cupid thus bestow'd, 
Well pleas'd he caught the precious load, 
And curious now its worth to prove, 
(All tasks you know are light to love,) 
He search'd its various climes to find 
The gentlest heart, the purest mind, 
DeterminM where his choice should fall, 
To make a present of the ball : 
That choice confirm'd, with deference due, 
Love offers all the World to you. 

CUPID ON PEGASUS. 

For you, Love tunes the Muse's lyre, 

For you, the winged steed he reins : 
And should no spark of heavenly fire 

Illume and animate his strains, 
One kind forgiving smile from you 

Shall well his bold attempt repay : 
With such a glorious prize in view, 

What perils will not Love essay ? 



326 

GARDENING IMPLEMENTS. 

A happy welcome, Lady dear ! 

Shall greet your choice of rural bow'rs, 
Behold each rustic emblem here 

For you is gaily twin'd with flow'rs ! 

GOTHIC WINDOW. 

Dear Lady, would you wish to prove 
This magic Window fram'd by love ? 
Its lucid panes, unstain'd by art, 
Can shew the pictures of the heart. 
From all delusive splendors free, 

This Window in your bosom wear, 
And, Lady, we shall plainly see 

Each grace and virtue painted there. 

CUPID ON AN ELEPHANT. 

In castled strength, see, Cupid rides, 
And Asia*s sylvan monarch guides i 
Thence gaily deals unerring darts, 
And brings to you whole strings of hearts ! 
So love, within your laughing eyes, 
Secure as in a castle lies, 
And draws from that unfailing source 
United eloquence and force. 



327 

WREATH OF OAK. 

No garland gay of painted flow'rs 
Has Cupid fram'd in Tempe's bow'rs ; 
But from Britannia's hand bespoke 
A garland of her native Oak, 
With bliss unfading to entwine 
A British hero's Valentine. 



A WATCH. 

Fair Lady, if the hours of youth 
You grace with virtue, love and truth, 
If well the moments you employ, 
Nor let them unimprov'd pass bye, 
You, with good humour's, magic blest, 
Shall time and Cupid's flight arrest, 
And either pow'r, while life endures, 
Shall seal each grace, each blessing yours. 



SEA PORT AND PHAROS. 

Love draws the happy haven nigh, 
Your heart his home, his guide your eye, 
Where virtue's steady ray shall prove 
The land-mark, and the light of love. 



328 

CUPID SLEEPING ON A BED OF ROSES. 

Behold where love, unarm'd reposes 

In peace, upon a bed of roses : 

Wake not his terrors, Lady mild, 

But gently lull the sleeping child ; 

So love your path with sweets shall strew, 

And Roses ever bloom for you. 

TWO HEARTS, entwined with Heart's-ease. 

Two gentle Hearts, by love entwin'd, 
Which Hymen's silken fetters bind, 
Shall bid each grace, each pleasure bless, 

A splendid, or a lowly lot ; 
And with celestial Heart's-Ease, dress 

Alike, the palace, or the cot ; 
Yours, Lady ! these unsullied joys, 
With love, and fortune's highest prize. 

PALLAS TURNING ASIDE THE DARTS OF LOVE, 

'Tis yours, my fair ! with grace to wield 
Minerva's spear, Minerva's shield, 
Defend your own from Cupid's darts, 
And rule at will o'er other hearts. 
May merit long your pow'r confess, 
And you exert that pow'r to bless. 



329 



THE ZODIAC. 

Lady, your horoscope foretells 

A scene where mirth and pleasure dwells ; 

And ev'ry sign the Zodiac bears 

For you a fav'ring aspect wears : 

Then chuse, where'er your thoughts incline. 

And blessings wait your Valentine. 

MARRIAGE OF CUPID AND PSYCHE, 

To the heart uncorrupted, that sympathy knows, 
Where softest affection with sentiment glows, 
St. Valentine offers this emblem refin'd, 
The union of love, with the charms of the mind, 

A CHAPLET OF ROSES. 
In the Portico of Hymens Temple. 

Cheer'd by the beam that gilds your eye, 

Love hung the votive chaplet high, 

Nor you the gift disdain : 

Since he and constancy unite 

To twine the wreath, and both invite, 

Your steps to Hymen's fane. 
f r 



;;30 



MENURA SUPERBA. 

Menura Superba, in elegant state, 
Displays his bright plumage, and calls to his mate ; 
While she, in simplicity's meeker array, 
With chasten'd affection responds to his lay : 
By this you may find, fortune means to prefer a 
Fit mate for your worth, " rara avis in terra !" 
And devises this singular emblem, to shew, 
Affection and splendor united for you. 



LOVE BEHIND A MASK, IN A BOWER 
OF ROSES. 

In rosy bow'rs, and verdant glades, 

Does Love in ambush lie, 
And with a laughing visor shades 

The terrors of his eye. 

But lovely Lady, do not fear, 
Or venom'd darts, or treach'rous wiles, 
Unarm'd he sports, and playful smiles, 

While mirth and joy invite you here. 



331 



GENT&HMlSlf'S VALENTINES^ 
1811. 

A WINDMILL. 

" A Windmill ! now, upon my life, 
I hate the thought of such a wife ! 
A foe to quiet and repose, 
The slave to ev'ry wind that blows !" 

Spare your invective, Sir, we'll shew 
What good this noisy Mill can do. 
Like courtesy she changes still, 
But only with her Master's will ; 
Not vainly bent, or prone to roam, 
She changes but to vary home. 
Who would a little bustle chide 
That's ever usefully employed? 
And when the furious tempests rave, 
Not hers their angry force to brave ; 
Serenely still her arms she closes, 
And patience to the storm opposes : 
And think you not a happy life 
Might well be spent with such a wife? 



332 

A HEART, 

Surrounded with Roses, Stars, and Bags of Monet/, 

What a prize does your lot of this ev'ning impart ! 
See, Love has reserv'd you an unsullied Heart : 
Both honors and wealth with the gift he disposes, 
And circles it round with a Garland of Roses, 
And you, ever cheer'd with felicity's ray, 
Shall bless the fair prize of Saint Valentine's day. 

A LADY ANGLING, 
With a Fish approaching the Bait. 

Though gay o'er life's current you sportively glide, 
Beware ! there's a Bait in your track on the tide : 
You have not yet struck, but whenever you do 
May you bless the fair hand that shall captivate you. 

WREATH OF LAUREL AND MYRTLE. 

Renown and glory here bestow 
A Laurel Wreath, to bind your brow, 
And laughing Love, to crown their care, 
Has twin'd the fragrant Myrtle there, 
To shew that valor's meed shall prove 
Most lovely when combin'd with love. 



'V 



ANACREON PLUNGING LOVE IN THE 
BOWL. 

And did you " seize Love's downy wing 
And plunge him in the racey spring ?" 
Love laugh'd the while, for well he knew 
A vengeance sure prepar'd for you : 
His eye, replete with fiery darts, 
A subtle flame to wine imparts ; 
The vine's rich juices brighter roll ; 
He lives, he frolics in the Bowl, 
And mocks your vain attempt to prove 
That wine can drown or conquer Love ! 



CHINESE LANTERN FLY. 

This gentle fly, with lambent light, 
Illumes the weary traveller's way ; 

She dissipates the gloom of night, 

And gilds his path with sportive ray : 
So may good humour, ever gay, 

With reason's steady lustre shine, 

And love, and life's best splendors play 

For ever round your Valentine. 



334 

FAME, BEARING THE KING OF HEARTS 
ON A BANNER. 

Does Love a fav'rite lot impart, 

And mirth inscribe the playful line ? 

Then ask the Lady of your heart 
To read aright your Valentine, 

And let her dearer voice proclaim 

What title you derive from Fame. 



MILITARY TROPHY OF DRUMS, FIFES, &c. 

This merry emblem seems to say, 

That fortune, with your wish complying, 

Shall bear for you the prize away, 

With Drum and Fife, and colours flying. 



A PEN, WREATHED WITH BAY. 

This verse unassuming, accept as your lot, 

The Pen that could worthily write in your praise 

Though barr'd the soft claim of a true-lover's knot, 
May justly, I think, be encircled with Bays! 



335 

\ 

LADY SPINNING. 

Say, have you, with our soothing bard, 

To sentiment and mem'ry true, 
Wish'd * Lucy at her Wheel should sing 

In russet gown, and apron blue ?° 

And, if to mild domestic care 

She add that soul subduing tone. 

Which like " a spirit of the air," 
Speaks to our hearts, and breathes her own. 

Then all the joys of home for you, 
And life's best bliss shall daily prove, 

In soften'd voice of song, how true 
That " Love is heav'n, and heav'nis Lovef 

A HEART ENSHRINED IN A HEART, 

With the Order of Merit. 

Who to one heart alone confin'd 

Shall seek to win no more, 
Who wears that faithful heart enshrin'd 

In his Heart's very core, 
Still honor'd, by the good and fair 
Shall Merit's emblem justly wear. 



336 

A RATTLE. 

What have you drawn ? nay, do not frown^ 
Or deem me an unworthy chattel, 

My verse shall prove, and you shall own., 
The world itself is all a Rattle. 

The Warrior who impatient flies, 
To win, and triumph in the battle, 

Whose fame resounds in pomp and noise,* 
May well be deem'd a mighty Rattle* 

The Lover who his Lady wooes, 

And fills her ear with flatt'ry's prattle, 

Unless with deep respect he sues, 
Will sure be call'd an idle Rattle. 

Your Lucy at her spinning wheel 
May listen to her neighbour's tattle ; 

And gossip Fame, with all her zeal, 
By sneering Scorn, be call'd a Rattle* 

Your Cupids, Fishes, Lantern-flies, 
Your Gipsies, are but sorry cattle ! 

E'en Mills themselves can praise a noise ! 
Then let me be an honest Rattle. 



S37 



GIPSEY. 

Cross my hand, worthy Sir, and I'll freely relate 
What for you is inscrib'd in the records of fate. 
Whatever of magical skill you can fancy, 
Of palmistry's lines, and expert chiromancy 
I know, and am skilPd in Egyptian astronomy ; 
But an adept am most in occult physiognomy. 
I know, by the turn of your nose and your chin, 
At cards you must lose, and in battle must win, 
By the lines of your brow, and the form of your 

eyes 
One may venture to fancy you valiant and wise: 
What more of your fate would you wish me to prove? 
Would you know if your lot is successful in love ? 
A hint shall suffice, and since myst'ry my trade is, 
That lot you must read in the eyes of the Ladies, 



338 

LADIES VALENTINES, 1817. 

A MAGNET. 

The wond'rous pow'r the Magnet shews 
To you, my fair, needs no relation ; 

But know your sex's pow'r still grows 
Like that, more strong by combination. 

Be, to a fair and winning face 

Good humour, with expression join'd ; 

To all of form's external grace, 
The dearer graces of the mind. 

To such a combination, love 

Resistless empire, pleas'd imparts, 

And yours, my fair these charms, that prove 
A Magnet to attract all hearts. 

A PURSE. 

Observe how fate and fortune deign 

This lucky purse for you to fill, 

The wealth may change, the heart shall still 
In constant love, unchang'd remain, 



339 

THREE MAGPIES. 

Three Magpies ! bless us ! what's the matter ? 

Sure thus I hear the gossips chatter : 

" So neighbour ! where have you been gadding, 

" While all the world for news is madding ?" 

" Oh ! Fm so tired ! Fve really flown 

<e Quite round the village and the town : 

" And heard such news !" 

te I know it all ! 
" That strange flirtation at the ball !" 
" No ! no ! not that"— 

" Oh ! then you mean 
" The joke about a Lady's screen !" 
" Indeed I don't !" 

" Miss Fidget's fever ? 
t€ Or, do Miss Simper's lovers leave her ? 
** Perhaps some folks apply the lines 
*' In Mrs. Cobbold's Valentines ; 
" And whisper, satire fram'd the lay."— 
*' No ! that I'm sure they cannot say : 
" You'll never guess it !" 

" Oh, I die 
" To hear the news !"— " And so do I." 
" Well then, they say, a Lady fair, 
" Of virtues and endowments rare; 
" Has made a conquest"— 



340 

« Tell us who >" 
" Why, of the very worthiest beau, 
" Rich, graceful, blest with ev'ry merit ; 
" A man of talents, taste, and spirit: 
" All is agreed, and soon 'tis said, 
" The happy couple mean to wed !** 
" Their names, their names ?" 

" I may not tell ; 
But mark me, and you'll know them well. 
" She to whom fortune shall assign 
te Three" Magpies for a Valentine, 
" The Lady is"— 

" I guess the rest. 
"The Lover?" 

" Hush, whom she loves best/ 9 

TINDER BOX. 

In vain the power to kindle fire, 

In other hearts you hold, 
If yours, untouch'd by soft desire 

Is rayless still and cold. 

No more be yours, in regions dark 

Of apathy, to rove, 
But strike from worth and truth, the spark 

That lights the flame of love. 



341 

A GOLDFINCH. 

When spring has woke the vermeil flowers, 
And freshen'd verdure decks the bowers ; 
The Goldfinch darting thro' the glade, 
Gives life and beauty to the shade ; 
Athwart the trembling foilage seen, 
A living ray of golden green ; 
And flutt'ring light his glossy wings, 
In sprightly notes, this measure sings. 

u Tell me, my love ! which most you prize, 
Life's quiet, or fantastic joys ? 
And as you please, with constant aim, 
In either kind, I'll urge my claim." 

" Say, have you learn'd from sons of earth 
To value titles, wealth, and birth ? 
'Tis known I boast a regal name, 
King Hairy, I, of matchless fame." 

* Descent who boast, and pedigree, 
Mine is the orchard's loftiest tree, 
And if in gold your love should shine, 
What beau's attire can equal mine ?* 



342 

" But if content with humble lot, 
You deem, that bliss may grace a cot, 
Well pleas'd I'll fly to meet you there, 
And rural pleasure gladly share.", 

a And ours shall be the cheerful lay, 
That grateful hails each rising day ; 
And greets, with ev'ry pleasure blest, 
Our peaceful home, our happy nest. 

A FARM YARD. 

If rural scenes your mind delight, 
And simple joys have power to charm, 

You'll greet with smiles your lot to-night, 
The fruitful grange, the wealthy Farm. 

The low of kine, the bleat of flocks, 
Thro' all the smiling valley rings ; 

And care, the ruddy Milk-maid mocks, 
As o'er the brimming pail she sings. 

Full dove-cotes, barns well stor'd with grain^ 
Rich meads are yours, if you approve, 

Then smile upon your happy swain, 
And add to these a life of love. 



343 

FLYING DRAGON, 

A Flying Dragon greets your sight, 
Pray, Madam ! be not in a fright ! 
Tho' somewhat strange in shape and feature, 
'Tis not a very dreadful creature. 

Suppose his pouch a sabretache, 
His tail a silk and crimson sash. 
In fancy's eye, for greaves of green 
Embroidered pantaloons are seen. 

His coat becomes a gold-lac'd jacket, 
Nor let your bosom make a racket, 
If you behold your Dragon, soon 
Transform'd into a smart Dragoon. 

CUPID HIDING TIME'S HOUR GLASS. 

Say, know you why the Lover's hours 
Unnumber'd or unmeasur'd pass ? 
Lo ! Love has stolen Time's warning glass, 

And hid it deep in fragrant flow'rs. 

But Love, this little roguish plot, 
Superfluously with you had tried, 
Time in your service well employ'd, 

To turn, his Glass had quite forgot. 



344 

A WINNOWING FAN. 

No further in search of a Valentine rove, 
Though folly deride, or impertinence laugh, 

Discretion the Winnowing Fan may approve, 
That cleanses the wheat, while it scatters the chaffl 

With smiles then, the gift emblematic retain, 
For wit in this symbol your judgment divines ; 

That gives to the wind, the light, worthless and vain* 
And sense, truth, and honor, selects, and refines. 



A MASQUERADE. 

Come, share the bright pleasures of youth ere they 

fade, 
For life is a motley, and gay Masquerade. 
Where the wisest will oft change their station, and 

quality, 
And try to appear what they're least in reality, 
Where Lovers such varying characters use, 
'Tis a work of no little discernment to choose. 
But prudence assists in performing the task, 
And judgment's clear vision can see thro' the mask^ 
Their aid, for my fair, a good partner secures, 
And worth and affection for life shall be yours. 



345 

THE MONITORY LIZARD. 

The Monitory Lizard tells, 
With warning voice, where danger dwells, 
Attends the traveller's devious ways, 
And guides him thro' th' untrodden maze. 

Kind heaven in blessings, thus shall send 
For you, the guardian, and the friend, 
Whose sense and tenderness thro' life, 
Protecting guides his happy wife. 

A BIRD, CAUGHT UPON A LIME TWIG, 

So, my poor Bird ! you're caught at last ! 
The Lime Twig holds your plumage fast ! 
No hopping now from tree to tree ; 
No more on giddy wing, you rove, 
From bow'r to bow'r, from grove to grove, 
And boast the charms of liberty. 

But feel not sullenness or rage, 

For you shall have so fair a cage, 

And such a cheerful, happy home, 

That you more merrily shall sing 

Than any Bird of freer wing : 

Nor ever wish again to roam, 
ii ii 



346 

RAZOR GRINDER. 

The Razor Grinder's potent wheel, 
New edge, new lustre can bestow* 

And make the dull and blunted steel* 
In keenness, and in polish glow. 

But, O ! if disappointment sour, 
Pert folly or coquetry's smart, 

Or cold neglect's corroding pow'r, 
To Apathy have dull'd the heart* 

What influence shall its temper own ? 

Its keen affections what renew ? 
Why, e'en such virtues as are known,, 

Fair Lady ! to reside with you. 

OLD MARKET CROSS. 

This ancient Mart, fair Lady, shews 
That commerce well her wealth bestows> 
And gives your Valentine, to claim, 
A British Merchant's honor'd name ; 
Then let the smiles of beauty crown 
Integrity and bright renown. 



847 



CUPID DANCING MASTER. 

Young Love once seiz'd a violin, 
Resolv'd in mirth to prance. 

And first, his frolic to begin, 

Would teach each grace to Dance* 

Since then, with various sprightly lays, 
On earth, he tries his chance, 

And leads in many a winding maze, 
The thoughtless maid a Dance. 

But you, my fair, with better heed, 

Will cautiously advance ; 
You measure well your steps, and lead 

E'en love himself a Dance. 

Let prudence still your wishes bound, 
Good sense your wit enchance; 

And you a partner, priz'd be found, 
In life, as in the Dance. 



348 



SET OF ORNAMENTS, 

The Ornaments in tasteful row, 
That fortune gaily sends to-night, 

Of mental gems, the symbols shew, 

That shine with more resplendent light* 

The snowy pearl's unsullied hue, 

Upon your gentle bosom wear, 
It feebly tells, what honor true, 

And purity are treasur'd there. 

The modest blush your cheeks unfold, 
Makes ruby ear-rings disregarded, 

And emerald bracelets, set in gold, 
Mark tenderness by prudence warded. 

In various characters express'd, 
Your various virtues we discover, 

The diamond cross upon your breast 
May shew the faith that warms your Lover. 



349 



THE HINDU GODDESS DEVI. 

The sanguine Hindu loves to see, 

Symbolic forms of deity, 

To these his off'ring blindly pours, 

And ev'ry attribute adores ; 

And thus, he gives to light and sense, 

The image of benevolence, 

Enthron'd upon the Loto's fair, 

Her bounteous hands its blossoms bear ; 

They wave the dewy flow'rs, and thence 

Bright plenty, benisons dispense, 

In chowries free, that fan her breast, 

Are gratitude's fond prayers express'd, 

While on her temples wisdom pours, 

From silver urn's celestial show'rs. 

Then pardon, fair, if you discover 

That your enthusiastic Lover, 

Who sees such attributes in you, 

Should with some idol worship sue, 

Be yours with virtue's holy light, 

To guide his wand'ring steps aright, 

And turn each pow'rful predilection, 

To pure and rational affection. 



350 



ALPINE BRIDGE. 

The Traveller climbs the rocky ridge, 
Tho' wild below the torrent foam ; 

And fearless treads the Alpine Bridge, 
To reach his dear and happy home. 

Thus presevering worth shall prove 
All labour light, all dangers vain, 

In the fond breast of virtuous love, 
His blissful resting-place to gain. 



A HAND HOLDING A WEDDING RING. 

Behold a wreath from Eden's bow'rs, 
But not alone with roses fraught, 

A bait is hid beneath the flow'rs, 
And if you touch it you'll be caught. 

Perhaps 'tis thus, the heart you chose, 
Contrives affection's gifts to bring ; 

If that's the case, you'll not refuse, 
The Hand that gives the Wedding Ring. 



351 



THE AUCTIONEER. 

Going ! going ! all in vain ? Oh Jupiter, this is a rate! 
Dear Ladies, think again; your loss I must commiserate, 
An honest heart ! I would not puff, I assure you, not a 

particle, 
But sure you don't reflect on the value of the article. 
It has sense and worth, and truth, good humour with 

sobriety, 
And tenderness and taste, with prudence and propriety ; 
What, Ladies, silent all ? not a word? why, fortune bless 

us ! 
The owner of this Heart is as rich as any Crcesus, 
And he promises his wealth at whatever rate you prize 

it, 
Shall accompany his Heart, and be only hers who buys 

it, 
Fifty, sixty, seventy, a hundred ! — aye, now the prize 

is growing, 
Two, three hundred ! thank ye, Ladies — going ! going ! 

going ! 
May I beg you, Lady Jane, not to hold your fan so 

high, 
I lose your nod, and worse, I lose the lustre of your eye; 



352 

What pity such uncouth machines presume to hide the 

faces 
Where laughing dimples ever play, where sport the 

loves and graces. 
Fifty more ! thank you Lady Jane:— To your good taste 

and sense, 
All commendations I could use were mere impertinence, 
Lady Bustle ! view it well ; — 'tis a jewel of first water, 
Your Ladyship is overstock'd ; then buy it for your 

daughter. 
A thousand ! for that a thousand thanks. Pray, Ladies, 

pray advance, 
Were it feathers, lace, or gew-gaws, I'd say it came 

from France, 
But that can no accession, to native worth impart, 
'Tis the growth of Briton's climate, a truly gen'rous 

Heart! 
Ah ! sure I heard a better bidding! — Madam, did you 

say, 
That a Heart of equal feelings, should its utmost value 

pay? 
This bidding unaffected at once the lot secures, 
Going, going, going, gone !— Fair Lady it is yours. 



353 



A TOWN CRYER, 

O yes ! O yes ! O yes ! lost, stolen, or stray'd. 
Embezzled or secreted, or otherwise mislaid ; 
'Tis thought it may have wander'd, as it sought its 

counterpart, 
That article most rare, an unsophisticated Heart ; 
Of honor and simplicity no danger can deprive it, 
By its marks it may be known, and I hasten to 

describe it ; 
By inspection on the surface, a few scratches may 

be found, 
And the substance is just pierc'd with a single 

recent wound ; 
It has all its sentient fibres in a state of perfect sanity, 
But is touch'd with lively tints from a little cast of 

vanity ; 
While cheerfulness and bravery about the top are 

flying, 
At the bottom, truth and tenderness unchangeable, 

are lying ; — 
The meshes of affection around its cords are twin'd, 
And the image of a Lady in its centre is enshrin'd, 



354 

Who brings it to that Lady shall receive a rich 

reward 
Fromlipsuntouch'dby artifice, expressions of regard. 
One chaste and gentle pressure from a hand, pure, 

soft and white, 
And a radiant glance of gratitude from eyes of 

heavenly light. 
All those who value love and beauty, strive this 

Heart to bring 
To the Lady who commands the Cryer.— God save 

the King. 



POST BOY. 

The Postman's plain knock, or well-recogniz'd ring* 
Oft strikes of the heart ev'ry tremulous string, 
And the blush of the fair one, will often discover 
Her hope of a billet-doux sent from her Lover. 

But whether to bear one to-night be his task, 
We will not with vain curiosity ask ; 
Nor with raillery light, the enquiry pursue, 
Assur'd that he brings some good tidings for you. 



355 



A HEART BROILING ON A GRID-IRON. 

See, broiling for you a most excellent Heart, 
Pray don't let it scorch, gentle Lady, or waste, 

We hope with such warmth, as its fire can impart, 
You'll presently own it is dress'd to your taste, 



A VANE. 

How falsely to the moving Vane 
The thoughtlessly imputed stain 

Of fickleness is given, 
Which as the well-known impulse veers 
Its circling course unerring steers, 

True to the breath of heaven. 

And you, my fair, with smiles benign, 
Receive to-night a Valentine, 
To love and honor true ; 
Who constant to a virtuous wife, 
Thro' ev'ry change and chance of life, 
Keeps faith with heav'n and you. 



356 



THE BUTTERFLY'S WEDDING. 

Hearts buoyant and cheerful that spring to the call* 
Which lately invited to Butterfly's ball, 
Now haste to her bridal, where blessings you'll find 
Awaiting the bands cf affection and mind. 

Special license obtain'd, and the mystical ring, 
Grave Parson Cerambyx, with long sharded wing, 
Invokes ev'ry bliss for the new married pair, 
And Longlegs the Clerk, hums amen to the prayer. 

Kind nature profuse of each redolent flow'r, 
With beauty and fragrance adorns the gay bow'r, 
The fire-fly has lighted her lustre on high, 
And grass-h v opper minstrels sing chorus of joy. 

Then haste with new pleasure, ye fair, and ye gay, 
To the bridal foretold on St. Valentine's day, 
For ail here are firmly persuaded, the prize 
Will prove the bright presage of permanent joys. 



357 

LADY'S NIGHT-CAP. 

This Night-cap take., my gentle fair ! 
And on your spotless temples wear, 
For various virtues in it dwell, 
Diffusing round a holy spell : 
It shields the thoughts from all offence, 
And guards the cheek of innocence; 
To fancy's ear, in balmy slumbers 
Joins notes of love with seraph numbers, 
Such matchless charms not Venus' zone 
In all its fabled pow'rs could own, 
That only taught, with pearly skin, 
And cheek of rose, the heart to win. 
But this can dearer gifts impart, 
That gain at once, and keep the heart, 
O happy lot is yours to ehuse it, 
For none knows better how to use it. 



THE NEW COINAGE. 

Pure from the mint this stamp we own, 
No baser coin is current here ; 

So where your sterling worth is known, 
All counterfeits must disappear. 



358 

LAW, PHYSIC, AND DIVINITY. 

To win your heart, professions three 

All plead with equal skill; 
Law, Physic, and Divinity, 

Chuse Lady, which you will ! 
And each day, and year, and minute, prove 
How blest the choice of virtuous love. 



A STUDENT. 

Aspiring to deserv'd renown, 
The Student takes the cap and gown, 
But vainly honors, earn'd in College, 
Repay his long pursuit of knowledge* 
With medals, prizes, or election, 
If not a Graduate in affection. 

And he, who Master is of Arts, 
Would prove a Master too of hearts ; 
Of one at least, and if your smile 
Approve and crown his learned toil, 
Will grateful bless his lot, when he 
Takes, in your heart, his best degree. 



359 



GLASS HOUSE. 

As curling flame intensely glows, 
Of elements a mingling mass, 

Wide in the heated furnace flows 
A clear translucent sea of glass. 

So jarring passions kindly move 

In one pure stream, refin'd by love. 

But if in sudden fierce extremes 
The radiant metal chill and glow, 

The useless fabric idly gleams, 

And shatters with the slightest blow. 

So anger and coquetry prove 

Destructive to the bliss of love. 

But when th' annealing stove combines 
Its steady and enduring heat, 

The vase or goblet clearer shines 
In temper, as in form, complete. 

So love is to perfection brought, 

By constancy and mildness wrought. 



860 

Thus when you melt the soul to love, 
And wake a passion bright and pure, 

Your truth and gentleness shall prove 
The charm to make that love endure. 

And you thro' life shall still posses&j 

The joy in being blest to bless. 



ROSE-BUDS. 

Fate thoughtful and kind 

To you has consign'd, 

These Rose-buds of virtue to-night,, 

Then safe in your breast 

Give them shelter and rest, 

And they'll blow with transcendant deligh? 



A LANTERN. 

While these bright flames their light diffuse^ 
You can't in fear or danger stray, 

So be the spouse, whom you shall chuse, 
A light to cheer and guide your way. 



361 



PERUVIAN WORSHIPING THE SUN, 

The meek Peruvian sees the sun diffuse, 

Warmth, joy and gladness thro* the changing year^ 

In him the Lord of life and nature views, 
And prostrate bows in awful homage there. 

With fervent zeal, his orisons he pours, 
But all must own, the youth who worships thee 

Is less idolatrous, since he adores 
A purer image of the deity. 



A CAPER. 

Fortune on various flow 'rets glancing, 
To let no plea for mirth escape her, 

Observ'd that you were fond of dancing, 
So took the hint, and cut a caper. 



k k 



362 



gentlemen's valentines, 

1817. 



FISH WOMAN. 

Fish, Fish, alive ! who'll buy, who'll buy I 
Pray pause and mark the various fry. 
Our nets have made a wond'rous catch, 
Where each odd Fish may find his match ; 
Perhaps you'd chuse a plaice, or, stay, 
If glory lure you, here's a ray, 
Old wives in fashion are, we put 
Before them solid holy-but. 
No sharks have we, or devil-Jish, 
Such make not a domestic dish. 
If you're a dab at letter writing, 
Your fingers, Sir, may want a whiting I 
No gudgeon you, by maggots caught, 
And white bait too is vainly brought, 
And tho' you often sport where store is, 
Of silver eels, and shining dorees, 
I see you've chosen, from the whole, 
A maid with a superior soul. 



363 



A DECOY POND. 

Gay Lovers, who on beauty doating, 
To Circe's witching island floating, 
Boast bliss extatic to secure, 
May prove Decoy-ducks to allure. 

But here you safely speed your flight, 
No fatal snares are spread to-night, 
No art allures, no vice beguiles, 
But virtue sanctions beauty smiles. 

The only mischief of the charm, 
The direst spell, the utmost harm, 
With which to-night's decoy is fraught, 
Is that you may be tam'd when caught. 



STRELITZIA REGINA. 

Fate sends you, Sir, to-night, this regal flow'r, 
To say, that she has destin'd to your arms 
A maid pre-eminent in worth and charms, 

Then gladly deck for her the nuptial bow'r. 



364< 



LION CAUGHT IN A NET. 

Caught in the toils the Lion view, 
An emblem not unapt for you ; 
Who in Love's fine and subtle Net 
In vain may rave, and chafe, and fret ; 
The more you struggle, still you'll find 
The pow'rful meshes faster bind. 
But, if resign'd, your fate you bear, 
And kiss the hand that form'd the snare, 
For you the lighten'd band of love 
A soft and silken thread shall prove, 
Which you shall gladly wear and treasure^ 
The Net for ornament and pleasure. 



A PAIR OF SNUFFERS 

Does she you love, with playful art 
Appear to damp or dim the heart ? 

Do you with equal skill requite her ; 
Coquetish tricks she'll soon disclaim, 
And own she only snuff'd the flame, 

In hopes to make it burn the brighter. 



I 



365 

A DORMOUSE AND CAGE. 

Oh, let not caprice o'er your Dormouse prevail, 
If whispering Apathy's emblem is here, 

She sleeps but when cold or rude tempests assail, 
And springs to new life when the sunbeams 
appear. 

If a cloud on your brow, she should happ n to meet, 
Or fancy the winter's chill blast in your eye, 

All patient, and still, to her home she'll retreat, 
But your smile shall be summer, and wake her 
to joy. 

Then cherish a partner so gentle and meek, 

From storms, and from seasons inclement defend 
her, 
Crood humour's bright sunshine shall glow on your 
cheek, 
And peace, love, and happiness ever attend her. 

ARCHERY. 

Of fate averse, and fortune dark, 
Let unsuccessful youths complain, 

You skillfully have hit the mark, 
And won the heart you sought to gain. 



366 



A FAIR. 



With the Fair all before you, Sir, what do you buy ? 

Your choice makes your fortune, or mars, 
Our toys for grown children perhaps you would try ? 

Our ribbands, our garters, and stars ? 

These gew-gaws that fade in political strife, 

In slight estimation we hold, 
And the gilding that covers the gingerbread wife, 

I fear is but counterfeit gold. 

In peace you won't think of the trumpet or drum, 
Nor here seek a summons to battle ; 

A doll your election will never become, 
And I'm sure you won't wish for a rattle. 

Perchance, Sir, still gazing at wonders and toys, 

You wish rather longer to roam ? 
The eye is soon suited, and permanent joys 

Are surely best treasur'd at home. 

But choose, Sir, at once with discretion and care, 

While fate to your wishes replies, 
She gives you the fairest, and best of the Fair, 

Then welcome St. Valentine's prize* 



367 

A SWING. 

While youth, and joy, and spirits light, 
Their varied pleasures gaily bring ; 

Of ev'ry innocent delight, 

Pray let your Lady take her swing. 

She'll not grow giddy, if with care 

You sometimes gently guide the string ; 

But, O ! ofdang'rous fall beware, 
If you too rudely check the swing. 

Then smiling health, with roseate ray, 
Shall o'er her cheek fresh colour fling : 

And cheerfulness at home, repay 
Indulgence in the harmless swing. 

GARDEN CHAIR. 

Calm and retir'd in rural shades and bow'rs, 
You wish, Sir, now to spend your placid hours, 
Beneath the shelter of a light alcove, 
Where foliage twines, and zephyrs whisper love, 
Has fortune kindly plac'd your Garden Chair, 
Be yours to lead a worthy partner there. 



368 



HONEY-GUIDE. 

The Honey-guide, thro* Africa's groves 
In search of treasur'd sweetness roves t 
The hive in deepest wilds discovers, 
And round it unremitting hovers, 
Alluring, by her well-known cries, 
Her human friend to share her prize. 
So fortune, Sir, to-night entreats, 
Your presence to a feast of sweets ; 
And if judicious in selection, 
You well observe her kind direction, 
She whispers that herself and love 
Your grateful guests, thro' life, will prove. 



FLAG OF TRUCE. 

Does Love the yielding fair induce. 
To offer now, a Flag of Truce ? 
Accept it, Sir, with honor due ; 
And may that ensign's spotless hue 
The signal of a treaty be, 
Of lasting faith and amity. 




^k^ 






3» 










c$h. 



869 

CUPIDS WITH THE CLUB OF HERCULES, 

Can Love, the light and idle boy, 
Accomplish such a task with ease ? 

And manage like a childish toy, 
The massy Club of Hercules ? 

O ! Love has many in his train 
To make all toil and labour light, 

And what he can't by force attain, 
He readily achieves by sleight. 

The strongest he can tame and bind, 
The most resolv'd and stubborn move ; 

Yield then with grace, and you shall find 
A gen'rous conqueror in Love. 

POPPIES. 

He who these lovely flowers would chuse 

To steep them in lethean dews, 

Shall well their powers employ ; 

Our Saint their virtue so prepares, 

They lull your grief, subdue your cares. 

But wake to love and joy. 
L L 



870 



TIME, LOVE, AND THE GRACES. 

As sporting in the myrtle shade, 

With infant Love the Graces play'd ; 

Beneath their favor'd grove they spy'd 

Old Time advance with rapid stride, 

And threaten, on his pinions gay 

To bear their play-fellow away ; 

They hid him in the deepest bower, 

And strew'd his bed with leaf and flower, 

While trembling lay their little guest, 

The Graces thus his foe address'd s 

" Great monarch ! spare our dearest joy 

u All-powerful Time ! O spare the boy ! 

" And we will to your altar bring 

*' With summer fruit the flowers of spring, 

" And twine the brightly blushing rose 

" With ivy- wreaths to bind your brows." 

The hoary monarch yielding smil'd, 

" Trotect," he cry'd, " your fav'rite child," 

" And while the Graces guard the bower, 

" Love need not tremble at my power ; 

" But safe from my advances view 

tc The steps of Time restrained by you." 



371 



SPANISH BULL FIGHT. 

The gallant Spanish Cavalier, 

With pride attacks the madden'd steer, 

And thinks that nothing can be stranger 

Than thoughts of love, unmix'd with danger, 

Nay even courts his Lady's eye 

To scenes of death and cruelty. 

Not so Britannia's heroes seek 
To win her daughters fair and meek. 
Not that in danger's front they pause 
When fighting in their country's cause, 
But think love better understood, 
By courtesy than deeds of blood. 

And such too are Hibernia's sons, 
Her Ponsonbys, her Wellingtons, 
In valour and good humour gay, 
More prone to make a Bull than slay, 
And one of these to honor true, 
Perhaps may be reserv'd for you. 



372 



THE MAY-POLE. 

When spring with sparkling eye advances^ 
Mirth, love and pleasure hover round, 

And nymphs and swains with frolic dances 
Along the green sward lightly bound ; 

And deck the Pole with garlands gay, 

And chuse the favor'd Queen of May. 

So sportive in life's jocund spring, 
Let youth enjoy the fleeting hours, 

And festive garlands gladly bring, 

Fantastic wreath'd with glowing flow'rs^ 

And chuse a gentle partner sheen, 

And greet her as his fancy's Queen. 

But not the gaudy annuals bind, 

That bloom one summer, then decay, 

But chuse the fair whose polish'd mind 
Reflects bright virtue's steady ray ; 

So shall fresh wreaths be still supp*y'd, 

And lasting charms adorn your bride. 



373 



MERMAID. 

When trembling zephyrs softly rest 
Oh ocean's smooth and tranquil breast, 
And glassy waves and skies serene, 
Combining form one placid scene, 
Tis said the gentle Mermaid dwells 
Contented in her coral cells : 
But when the whelming storm draws nigh, 
Ere foam the waves, or burst the sky. 
She shews herself attir'd with care, 
And combs and braids her sea-green hair, 
And sweetly breathes the rocks among 
The precepts of her warning song. 

Of Mermaids these the tales they tell, 
Nay, some have been attested well, 
With such grave speech we scarcely know 
If tales like these be true or no. 

And even almost as uncommon 
Is heaven's best gift, a faultless woman, 
Whom life's most gorgeous summer day 
Scarce tempts from home one hour to stray. 



374 

Whose cheerful neatness best is shewn 
Where fortune's adverse tempests frown, 
Whose tender, animated eye, 
Can each approaching storm descry, 
And whose endearing warning voice 
Guides well the object of her choice. 

Such excellence may well seem rare, 
As Scotland's Mermaid stories are, 
But not, I hope, at such a distance, 
Nor yet so doubtful its existence, 
For by this emblem fate would shew 
So blest a bride is found in you. 



FIELD FLOWERS. 

She who, with the useful, the graceful entwines, 
And sense with accomplishment only combines ; 
Derives from the lowliest flow'rs of the field 
A pleasure no flaunting exotics can yield, 
Nor need you thro* life for enjoyment to roam, 
With a partner who thus can collect them at home, 
Who cheerful, tho* modest, and merry, tho' wise, 
In the lottery of wedlock's the capital prize. 



375 

GIRL SELLING MATCHES. 

Come buy my Matches ! buy my Matches, 
Form'd ev'ry purchaser to pleasure, 

And who the bargain quickly catches, 
I trust will find his lot a treasure. 

Here fir and pine, that resins spatter, 
Their light for critics shall disclose, 

And sandal wood in Persian atar 
Is nicely dipt for Bond-street beaux. 

Oak with proof spirit well imbued, 
With these no British tar will quarrel ; 

For hardy soldiers brave and good, 
I form them from the sprigs of laurel. 

The poet, barrister, and wit, 

In intellectual splendor bright 
Shall have a Match from phosphor lit, 

That shines with instantaneous light. 

And now good, Sir ! a Match for you, 
Where shall I find, with all my skill, 

The worthiest, long has been your due, 
Then take and chuse one where you will. 



376 

BOWER OF LOVE, 

O ! tell me not of eastern shade, 
Where fragrance floats thro' ev'ry glade, 
What tufts of palm, or citron grove, 
Are fragrant as the breath of Love ? 

Tho* sweet the dewy Paestan rose, 
And bright the Guernsey lilly blows, 
With many a sweeter fairer flower, 
Love twines in wreaths his fairy boweiv 

Tho* splendor shines in lofty halls, 
And music's voice to pleasure calls 
More brilliant Lover's glances prove* 
More tuneful is the voice of Love. 

For Love with more than magic arts 
New charms to ev'ry scene imparts, 
Can pomps in lowly vales unfold, 
And deck the cottage walls with gold. 

Then wheresoe'er you build your Bower^ 
Whether in scenes of wealth or power, 
Or bosom'd in the quiet grove, 
Still be it found the Bower of Love. 



377 

A HERNERY. 

On merit's wing aspiring high 
At royal game to-night you fly, 
And win the Bird who builds her nest 
Upon the old oak's lofty crest. 

This symbol guided by the fates, 
Your choice in wedlock designates, 
And they a bride reserve for you, 
Of family and fortune too. 



STEAM BOAT. 

Behold the steady Steam Boat glides, 
FropeU'd against the wind and tides, 
O'ercoming each opposing force, 
It keeps its constant steady course- 
No moons to watch, no gales to court, 
It duly gains its destin'd port : 
There is a power that can propel 
A faithful Lover's course as well, 
Can ev'ry obstacle o'ercome, 
And bring his hopes in safety home, 
Can guide his heart, and drive each fear thence, 
That pow'r, good Sir, is Perseverance. 

M M 



378 

A BALLOON. 

O'er clouds that blot our varying clime, 
Our Aeronaut ascends sublime, 
In ether's boundless plains enjoys 
Unchanging sunshine, cloudless skies, 
Marks, far beneath his lofty eye, 
Rock, flood, and field diminish'd lie, 
And laughs to see how sad and slow, 
The envious vapours roll below. 
Thus, Lady, he, whose soul of fire, 
To your affection dares aspire, 
In raptures' sunshine soaring high, 
Basks in the radiance of your eye, 
With elevated glance looks down 
On all the splendors of a crown, 
And from its helpless malice free 
Surveys the storm of jealousy : 
E'en so the language of romance 
In fancy's region may advance, 
Presuming boldly to discover, 
New worlds to bless yourself, and lover. 
But reason whispers, that your bliss 
Must first, my fair, be found in this, 
And smiling bids you both beware 
Of building castles in the air. 



379 

THE MARMOSET. 

Say, Madam, do you want a pet ? 
Behold the merry Marmoset, 

The fav'rite of the fair. 
While at his whim they wond'ring gaze, 
He climbs, and jumps, and skips, and plays, 

With graces debonair. 
He's very playful it is true, 
But somewhat given to mischief too, 

Yet well may be restrain'd. 
Then, of his giddy tricks beware, 
And lest he roam too far, take care, 

To have him fairly chain'd. 



THE MOSQUE. 

When from the Mosque the Call invites 
To join Mahomet's frequent rites ; 
The Moslem turns, with pious care, 
Tow'rds Mecca's shrine, and worships there. 

The tender looks of constant love, 
And sighs and supplications prove, 
As frequent and as fervent too 
The heart's devotion paid to you. 



880 

CONFESSIONAL, 

To win your confidence, my fair, 

See Love usurps the priestly chair, 

And slily thus of each transgression, 

He warns you how to make confession. 

First, " with coquetry to begin ; 

Aye, this in love's a deadly sin, 

And you'll atone for this offence, 

By penance, and by penitence ; 

If, though one heart should best content ye, 

You thoughtlessly have stolen twenty, 

Of such enormous contribution, 

You're doom'd to make full restitution, 

Dismissing nineteen of the score, 

Keep which you please, and steal no more. 

If, trifling with a Lover's pain, 

You're wounded by assum'd disdain, 

You must, for all such dangerous wiles, 

Pay blushes and consenting smiles, 

And giving idle roguery over, 

Decide no more to teize your Lover ; 

For all the wand'rings of the heart, 

Your taking such a generous part, 

Love owns an ample retribution, 

And blessings gives with absolution." 



381 

THE CORINTHIAN MAID. 

Hail, to the fair Corinthian Maid, 
Who first the human face pourtray'd, 
She saw her Lover's shadow fall, 
And trac'd it on the illumin'd wall, 
Rejoic'd to mitigate the force 
Of absence, with such sweet resource, 
And when the youth no more is near, 
To gaze upon his features there ; 
How oft since then, that cherish'd art, 
Has sooth'd the pang when Lovers part. 
And shall the maid pourtray to-night, 
The portrait of your Lady bright ? 
She's lovely as the op'ning rose, 
Her ©yes the diamonds' light disclose, 
With lips of ruby, teeth of pearl, 
And locks of hyacinthine curl ; 
Her figure tall, and strait, and free, 
Her air all grace and symmetry. 
Her mental beauty to declare,— 
Comparison is wanted there. 

Now, whether this be like or no, 
We will not here pretend to know, 
But, your heart's mirror shews her so. 



32% 



TOILET. 

This Toilet furnish'd by the graces, 
Can give new charms to fairest faces ; 
The rouge that with increasing glow 
Bids beauty's- freshest roses blow, 
With modesty's bright blushes fraught, 
Of health and cheerfulness is bought ; 
No wash those gentle bosoms crave 
That purity and meekness lave ; 
And radiant candour here supplies 
Unfading lustre to the eyes^ 
The ribbands placed for your selection 
Are woven bands of tried affection ; 
In folds that symmetry disclose, 
The robe of polish'd manners flows, 
With sparkling gems to grace the dress 
Of wit and modest playfulness; 
Now to truth's mirror turn, my fair, 
And view your own resemblance there. 



883 



THE KNIGHTS OF CONSTANCY. 

When Conrad with successful powers 

Subdu'd Duke Guelph, in Weinsbergs-towers, 

The Duchess and her Ladies there, 

To the stern warrior urg'd a prayer 

That each, since not allow'd to tarry, 

Might take what treasure she could carry. 

Tis granted, Conrad opes the gate, 

And troops and guards of honor wait. 

See, see ! each noble Dame appearing, 

Her Lord upon her shoulders bearing. 

Mov'd such heroic faith to see, 

The conqueror hail'd each warrior free, 

And nam'd them Knights of Constancy, 

May you, Sir, blest in wedded love 

Such order grace, such treasure prove. 



FINIS. 



J. RAW, PRINTEK, IPSWICH. 






ERRATA. 

Page 80, for once read owe, 

- for sixteen read sixteens. 
Page 82, for spring read spiring, 
i 83, for limped read limpid, 
131, for streaching read stretching, 









LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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